how many flights get delayed on the daily?

apparently many, many... and i mean many, many, many. regardless i'm back in the US again and i have no fucking clue what i'm doing here. i'm so out of it... that's probably because of the all nighter spent packing, or the last couple years of life spent wondering what the fuck man. it's strange moving back and forth between countries: no matter how tight old friendships may be, distance and time do take their tolls. and it's all still uncertain, just another gamble...

but, a toast, to some new shit, whatever may come.

punned it commentary, if you will

you know, well actually you don't know because i haven't told you yet, but you will soon. the real problem with the alleged clash of civilizations between the crackers in the western societies and the ragheads in the couple eastern theocracies is that the honkies, panicking because their empire is going bald, are pretending to want to spread their seeds of "democracy" in an attempt to show that they are still somewhat virile amongst all the emerging nations with raging libidos.

coincidentally they would need strategic access to and control over the middle east crude oil/energy corridor: that heaven sent special offer viagra/lube combo that will help to counteract the decline of once tumescent industrial nation hegemony.

what they are in denial about though is that the cosmetic-if-not-fatuous democracy they practice is actually just lipstick on an obese plutocratic pig... and DUH! sand niggaz don't eat pig! it's not halal you dumb-asses. how the war hawks could not have seen such a simple truth while fabricating laughable stories for invasion is beyond me, though at 5 ft 6.5 in, that's not too much of a stretch.

stream of consciousness: drug rush

i write with some old hands, the rhymes roam like nomads, wandering like lost tribes my minds wait for no man / i spit freeze like frost's bite, cold words for these forced ripe mc's who blow smoke and then choke like exhaust pipes / i'll toss mics like they be raw, salads on a frisbee, spinnin' broken records, break em ballads til they dizzy / busy with some 80 proof fizzy in my veins, call an izzy get the four-C score phillies lit the brain, / disappear in the purple haze pierce an eardrum with turns of phrase, pistol whip-em twists'll flip em off the vinyl til they dazed / still amazed at my brazenness, going crazed like some ancient shit, blood, sweat and swears, mix the colours, i'm paintin' wit /

deep throughts

it occurred to me today that nothing has really occurred to me in a while. the seeming paradox inherent in this occurrence led me to one conclusion: i have nothing to conclude. but the pleasant truth about life is that i can write about it and create an air of eccentricity around myself... an obscure intellectual allure, the sole purpose of which is to increase mating probabilities with confused readers.

if i ever do a ride-by shooting a la godfather three the victim's name better be "joey zaza" as well. else it just wouldn't look or sound as cool when you call out his name as you shoot him. imagine riding up on a horse to kill some regular guy and having to say, "hey, tom ford" or "hark, george crenshaw"... you'd have to follow that up with "i'm going to exact revenge on you with this pistol." so gay. saying "zaza!" emphatically resounds with the gunshots in a much less gay way.

i once heard of a bird who suffered from debilitating bouts of nausea. if you think deeply about this bird nausea, which you should because you never have before and you are now at a crossroad of intense philosophical cognition, you may come to an epiphany. the baby birds are probably really fat, and bird obesity could be huge a burden to the health care system of animals. there is room for more research in this area.

imagine if lots of people just mysteriously died at the hands of gunmen hanging from large kites. how thought provoking that would be.