love(PC)

[Axanderdeath]

1
The meaninglessness of a universal meaning of life

The hallway is long and dark--has a damp feel to it but there is nothing concert to suggest that water is really anywhere meaning it could be completely dry. The doors start a 300a, 300b, 300c. 301a, 301b, etc. Mine is 304c, which is quite I walk down the hall. I hope this means that the rooms are big in this place. I take a look in a room with an open door a man in his 30's and balding with a wife-beater and black pants and black suspenders is crying. The hair around guys bald spot is askew. A women with a purple sweater hanging from her body what must be a small and wasted body--she is smoking cigarettes. I walk on not wanting to be noticed looking in on there lives... Not wanting them to know that I know a thing about them crying and smoking in a cheap room down town.

I had bought a picture for my room from a street artist. The picture consist of a bunch of red and neon yellow lines intersecting it made no picture per-say. The guy that sold em sat cross legged on the cement. He looked like a heroine junking and given his profession this was hardly a rude assessment. It was 10 bucks. It was a dark overcast day and I felt it would brighten his day. You would think that no? Never have I seen such indifference in a artist at some on showing interest in their art. He took the money and put his head down--said thanks I think. I put this painting up on my wall. I placed my laptop on the table next to a large iron radiator painted gray as was the room. A little grim.

The bed was nice though--I removed the hotels bedding with it's numerous cigarettes burns and blood stains and put a sheet and my sleeping bag on the mattress. I sat down and looked out the side window by the bed the only window in the room. An alley way--what splendor my meager existence aloud me! I was also excited later that week to be seeing my old friend whom I had run in to doing my laundry in a laundry mat.

"Edgar?" said a voice while I shoving and packing my whole duffel bag of extremely dirty clothing into the machine and slamming the lid.

I said. "How do I know you?" I was at a loss to who this person was and why he was smiling at me like I was an old friend of his--thought a bit more--perhaps this was an old friend. Tim! "Tim fuck man I have not seen you for a while. What have you been up to?" He had been doing some interesting
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things, had traveled in Mexico and Spain. Told me about the places like I would know the name of a small town in one of these places--went on t tell me about temples and artifacts he had seen, what kind of meals he had. Interesting was my rely.

"Edgar what have you been up to?" Bastard I hated that he asked me. Like he did not know--everyone one knew my life. I don't know why the bothered asking.

"I was tree planting a bit. Hitch hiked a bit. Was with a girl a bit a while back. Did not work out. Writing a lot of short stories."

"Really have you been published?"

"Yes, but only on cheap Internet sits and e-zines and shit." I shrugged and turned to my washing machine that as starting to shake and bang the other washing machine.

"Maybe you packed it a bit much." ??? Said Tim--no shit Tim! Fucker.

"Yha I guess" I forced an embarrassed laugh and smile. Scratching my fore head. Laundromats have to be so damn hot I thought. "Hey man I don't got a phone but I can give ya my email."

"Sure Ed get together some time for a beer or something. Where you staying with right now?

"A fucking dive." I told him the name of my hotel and he cringed.

"Er I know the place. Be careful down there Ed." He smiled. "Here is my number. Marny and me are living together. I am sure she'd love to see you too." Marny. Marny Tooty, fuck I use to love that girl. Everyone did. and it was not just her breast either.

"Your lucky she has fucking sweet tits!" Tim was A little taken aback.

"Yes she does Ed. anyway I got to get going...” He said handing me the piece of paper. "Give us a
3
call."

I should of not made that tits comment. It was a little over the top--but that was me!! The more I thought about it the better I felt. The laundry lady had come up to me. She did not look happy. I told her I was sorry and that I was just about to change that.

"You better" she said "I don't like your kind in my place. your always fucking my washing machines up."

"Sorry" I said scrambling to put half of the wet clothing in the other washing machine. It was vital that I got them clean so I could go get a job in the morning. The rest of the day was just as uneventful as most--nothing really amazing happened but a couple sexual fantasy I had about several women that I passed by.


***********


Tim pissed me off because he had accomplished more than me. He was not a dick about it, but it made me angry. I knew that temple shit he was telling me about Mexico would peel the pants off most girls. But did he make the fucking temples??? No he just went and looked at them. He was just a looker and a reporter not like me! I was more like those fucking dicks that made those fucking temples, not him. Why did he get big tits Marny? Because he went and looked at some shit.... I can be a bit bitter before my morning coffee. Those were my thought before my Starbucks coffee the next morning--on the Job search.

I do not search for jobs like most people. I do not make resumes. I have no phone--when ever I have a resume that is always what the ask. SO you have no phone--I go , no no not yet.--you should get one they say--I know--I tell them I am working on it. But really I don't need a phone. Everyone needs a phone but me! But maybe if I get a job I might get a cell phone, and be like the rest of my savvy generation of bastard little rich assholes. Not that I am not rich or that I hate all people that have cell
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phones just that I find them annoying for some goddamn reason--the cellphone ring tones and text messageing and cameras--what is next? cellphone jet pack? Why have that not come up with that one yet.?

The cup of coffee has faulty lid. I get coffee al A buss accident? And I have heard that one a lot. I should not be so clumsy but why always a buss accident? It is more Starbucks fault-people should ask what starbucks faulty ass cup covers? ANd I would be forced to say precisely..
l over my white shirt. This will make some wise guy later today ask what happened to my shirt?
I am hyping myself up for the day of job interview--I go into every restaurants on the main street of the city I am looking for a job in--I have looked for work all over. There are a couple of country wide job placement places that you can go to and wait form 5 in the morning to the end of the day to maybe not get work. Those places are quleaky and if you are not a 35 year old alcoholic or recovering alcoholic you're not getting out to work everyday. And you have to be a 35 year old at least--just being a drunk does not cut it. Anyway I do not want to go to a place like that. So I am trying to get a steady job. I don't have much time either have to pay up at the hotel in a week.

Subway's not hiring at the time. Nor is the restaurants with white table cloth and wine glasses sparkling on each table. No short oder cook experience, and even though I tell the guy it does not take a rocket scientist to make bacon and eggs everyday, he says he is looking for some one with experience. They all ask me what I am doing in the city, and when I tell them I just decided I was going to stay here on a whim they fail to see the romance in my drifting lifestyle and turn me away with the main reason being lack of experience. I even ask a couple of them almost pleading How I was going to get experience if I was never given a chance. I know that that is bullshit though but it gets you a job sometimes--when you get some softy on a good day.

"What happened to you get on a bus accident." Says the guy at the counter.

"Starbucks has some faulty cups is all. " I look down at my shirt. "You hiring?"

"As a matter a fact we lost a dishwasher this morning." Well well I knew it was bound to happen at some point. Oh the life of a wandering dishwasher.
5

***********************


I start work that very night and I am happy to find out that there are a couple of hot wait staff. All though the occasional boner or half chub while spraying hot water every where and occasionally getting the crotch some what damp is uncomfortable to say the least. I worry about my buddy down there some times. The hell of a dish washing state of mind--you have to be sharp and take shit for anything that goes wrong in the kitchen. And get shit for looking a little dirty when you bring some polished glasses out to the bar. but it is a job and that is all I need at this point.

After work it is late 12 at night. I have a couple of fives from the tips and decide to go to the seedy looking bar across the street form my seedy hotel for a couple of watered down seedy glasses of 3 dollar swill. The inhabitants of the bar are like alleyway high rollers sitting at the gambling machines talking with hard done by drunken drawls. It is unfortunate that this makes me feel at home. It seems like some kind of a journalistic expose of the urban underbelly. Have to blend in though. You don't want to get found out in a place like this. Especially when yo have a tendency to talk too much while excited and drunk--I have to be careful and stay at the bar--hang over my beer and take the timed glances at bartender's cleavage. She has huge breast--two too too huge breast but for some reason it is hard not to take peaks.

I look to my left and beside me a couple seats down is the crying man from the room in the hotel and the too skinny smoker. The man looks in better spirits with a flush face and a squint eyed smile. the women looks tired and keeps moving her leg in a way a child would waiting to go to the bath room. She is asking the man if he's gonna give her the 50 bucks or not. This is the source of the Man enjoyment I think... It looks as though she really wants the 50 dollars and now is trying a different tacked rubbing his thigh and crotch. I look at the waitress's breast and then to the back of me at the people playing the video gambling machines.

I lean back against the bar and sip on my bear. What a seen this is? But what in the hell is it that is making me be here, and why Am I enjoying a scene like this. To think that this is everyday existence
6
for some people. I go home and to bed. I wake up in the morning with a slight hang over and feeling a little dirty for going to a bar like that. I don't have to work for a bit and try and get some writing done.

I try to write about Marny and the times when me and her were close--kind of. And she was with Tim now. And I was going to bars like the one I went to last night. I go down to the coffee shop on the corner where there is a pay phone and make a call to Tim and Marny.
s
"hello?" it is Marny.

"Hey Marny? you know who this is?"

"Ed. What is up? I here your in town..." Not the enthusiasm I was hoping for. Maybe Tim told her about that Tit thing I said. he would do something like that--he was a strategist like that. Not that he had to be--I had not seen Marny for years and who knew how long they were together, so taking that in to mind maybe he did not mention the Tit remark--it was true though she had marvelously big tits.

"Well I am living in a dive. working as a dishwasher. Went to the sleaziest bar in the world last night. Strange dark city so far."

"I know what you mean." A little bit more enthusiasm. "Ed... it is not all like that here. You are staying in like the worse part of town. that is really err... crazy! Just like you..." There was a pause then she continued. "anyway man" such terms of endearment! "We'd like to see you some night go to some bar, play pool or something?"

"That be great... When though?"

"When ever... Friday, Ed, Yha we can go play pool on Friday. I don't have work and Tim can spare some time from his work."

"What is Tim doing anyway?"

7
"well he just got a grant and is working on some pretty weird shit, if you ask me."

"I'll be sure to ask him about it." We said good bye after more small talk along the lines of times and places to met and what not.


***********************


The pool bar was crawling with students... I was getting nervous. What if some girl came up and asked me what I was taking. That be shitty. I do not make stuff up and I would have to tell her I was a dish washer, and damned if I had any stories about a temple in Mexico or a town in Spain! Or knowledge about exotic meals... None of that worldly knowledge from me. Of course I could expound on to her some of my more depressing views about the world and the meaninglessness of it all. This would be good enough for her until some guy with stories about Temples or some shit came along.

Tim and Marny came in looking like two super models or something and sat down with me and we ordered a picture.

"So I hear you are writing alot Ed."

"Ya Marny. It is kinda hard to get published though. People are looking for all this gimmicky shit these days. Which I like. But don't have any gimmicks. People are always asking me what my stories are about. All I can tell them is life."

"That is good enough I say Ed. I would like to read one some time." Said Tim.

"Sure thing I'll email you one or something. So want to have a game a table is open over there." I point to a non in use pool table.

8
"wait. It is funny you bring up the meaning of things. That is what Tim is studying here--with a shit load of government money too I might add." Marny blurbed and smiled at Tim and Tim put his hand through his brown curly hair and gave a nervous smile.

"I wish it were that simple. Some people think it is as simple that the meaning of life is that there is no meaning. But I think there might be a point." Tim takes a big breath. " I am thinking that the meaning of life can be found, or understood."

"Impossible!" I snap. He can not be so foolish I think. How dare he try and find out the meaning of life and leave all us searches with nothing to do but the same thing.

"I think the meaning of life is out there. I have been studying a trip of Indians in the mountains in Mexico. The Galectics." Tim takes a sip of beer and smiles. "Ed you would like these guys. In fact they remind me of you. Everyone of them has the exact mannerisms as you. it is really strange I ran in to you when I did." The fucker I thought to bring in those fucking temples and shit. "They want to meet you Ed. I showed them that picture you drew in 8th grade remember that one where it was an eye and a dagger through it. I think you captioned it, Keep your eyes open or they might get cut. Or something equally as clever. But Ed That same drawing was found on ancient temple's walls."

What was was this shit? He must be fucking with me! The smug cock sucker bastard. The meaning of life? Fuck what an evil ploy and I bet it was all started by that tit remark I made. "Fuck of tim come on. Sorry about saying that Tit thing and all. It was sposta be kinda funny you know."

Tim look surprised. he blinked. "Oh what you said about marny, well although that was a little uncalled for. Well it is true. We all know marny has big knockers" marny look a little perturbed. bit her lip. tim continued on. "I am serious about this. unfortunately I can not fly you down there even with massive government backing. You'll have to go find that it is true yourself."

Bullshit I thought. "But what does this have to do with the meaning of life?"

"Look this is not the time or place to get in to that Ed. Only after you go can we go in to that. Now
9
lets go have a game of pool."

Cock sucker. It was faltering as hell and that was the point! Why was he fucking with me like that? Maybe he just thought I needed a pick me up, maybe. I sure the hell was not going to Mexico because I wanted to find out weather or not I was some how connected to some ancient mumbo jumbo.... Play pool and check out Marny's cleavage...


********************


Was getting a little dull in the city, and winter had come. I was making good money. moved up to cook and was seeing a girl that I meet one night at the pool bar. She bored me though except for sex. it is disappointing when the person whom you slept with has very little personality or has some little thing about their nose or what ever that for some reason makes you sick. In her case she was good looking but was not much of an interesting character--it some times surprised me that such a dull person could be such a fun fuck--she was like a fucking animal. We turned into one pulsating entity--maybe it was her body trying to steal my brain. Anyway I asked her if she'd like to get out of town for a bit. But she had to work. So I decided to go myself.

I rented a cabin out by a lake and brought out my laptop. Was working on some boring stuff--trying too get the novel going. I need more experience for this job. I tried killing people off in odd ways like having someone get beaten to a bloody pulp with a cabbage patch doll. I had terrorist come in to play--but with the terrorist—aaa?--the characters were all so stereotypical. I did not want to write a Novel like that. However fun it would be and whoever likes those books I am sorry, but the Novel was not coming so I decided to go for a hike in the woods.

It was a nice day for a hike. Crisp winter air. I had never been in the wood during the winter. Except for when my family all went up to my grandfathers cottage for Christmas because he knew he was going to die and it was his last Christmas. I was thinking about that When I started into the woods. I remember we went for a beer run and I bought a 12 case all to my self and was walking around with it.
10
I got so drunk my father had to tackle me and force me to go to bed. That was one of the saddest winter mornings in the world--my grandfather died that night. The last thing I said to him was that he should learn how to dance like me, and I did a drunken Irish jig--oh what a depressing sending off I gave him.

Sticks mixed in with the snow. And why that caught my mind as I was walking around aimlessly in the woods in the middle of the day is beyond my minds powers of perception and deduction--why should I think about what it looked like when I was there--it was quiet and mine, it was all mine and no one could have it but me. Not idiot girl friend. I decided I would roll around in the snow. I laughed out loud and pissed in the snow and spelled my name with urine--fun in the woods!

Birds were chirping as if they knew some crazy city slicker was marking his ill defended territory. Because if a grizzly were to come up, fuck I could probably not beat a bunny! I was getting cold though so I went back to the cottage.

City people like me don't know what to do in the country. It has a novelty that is lost quickly with me and people like me—the sad souls they be--I get scared in the cottage and rummage through some of the draws and shelves to find a gun. I had to have control. I could not calm down--I have to beat this! I thought. I have to conquer this place. I scream and my hands in the air. "I am a god of the Mexican mountain " I yell and pull at my hair and then pour my self a rye and coke and take a piss--wash my hands. sit down take a drink, and then I drive back into the city half cut a 8pm tonged back at 12. I crawl in with the girl friend and we play a game and then I fall asleep.


**************************


The meaning of life. Hell that is a funny topic. Have you ever gotten in to it with anyone. When it gets to tough for me to keep talking I say that the meaning of life has no meaning and that is the meaning--the absent therefore of. But some people will tell you sex--which would be something--and some would tell you it is to be kind to your fellow human beings. I honestly think that the meaning of
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life is to keep searching for it and what it means to you. Lame I know, but I think that is what it is, and I do not have to go see some temples in Mexico to know that--not that I don't want to go...

I have hung out with Tim and Marny a couple times with my girls friend on the double date thing. Marny and Tim are fighting alot and this makes me happy--oh the search--but I make no schemes to get her I place of me in thoughts in motion in her mind. I am a schemer with out thinking about it--simply being in the place and time and living it fully allows me to hit the core of the situation and come out on top--some times I don't try, and some times I give up, but I know I am going to come out on top! Hell that could be the meaning of life or one of the contributing fractures, that being confidence! Why not not--maybe I'm a long lost relative of the Galetics tribe?

The art I bought when I got in to town is still on my wall--the new wall with my new girlfriend who does not like it, but what ever. I know what the painting is now--it is the intersecting souls of the world. I know that that street painter was just jaded bitter and that is what comes from knowing certain truths--they maybe be personal truths, but each of us have something that is intense and really real truth. Thats why I have to leave again and go on my way. Can't it be an introspective journey? It can be across the street--just got to have the courage to do it.... To find the meaning of life!












By:
GAP

[Trevor]

Hiya,

What kind of advice are you looking for? Are you looking at how to get published? Are you asking if the writing you just posted should be published? Or are you looking for someone to edit what you just posted?

If you are looking to get published, read, edit, submit and take the advice of the editors about your work and try to incorporate the useful tid bits they give. Know your marketplace and the magazines or publishers that suit your style, research them, don't just submit blindly, editors appreciate it when you actually know a bit about the magazine they publish. Don't get discouraged at rejection letters, keep pushing through them and hone your craft. Never ever ever underestimate or downplay the importance of editing your work....and I say work literally because as fun as it is to create characters and imaginary events, it is a lot of hard work and perseverance which polishes a good piece of writing. For example, the pieces you posted right now, are you happy with them? How many times did you go over them -- not just read them, but look at them, the structure, the grammar, the spelling? All these things usually matter to an editor because if he is thrown out of your story every couple of sentences due to typos or poor grammer or non-linear story movements then it is almost for certain he won't even finish reading the story and just file it in the "G" drawer. Keep it interesting and flowing, keep your own style but take into account the common language factor...don't run on and bore due to long explanations, run on descriptions or unnecessary exposition....all of which I have trouble with.....be a word accountant and ask yourself after reading your own words -- were all of those words necessary?

Sooo for what its worth, that's my advice...I'm hardly an expert so take what you will from all of this....however, one thing I can't stress enough is about the editing stage....it is the least fun, but most important aspect of writing....it can turn shit into diamonds.

Anyways, hope all this helped a bit.

[Lightning Rod]

yes trevor,

like any carpenter will tell you

measure twice and cut once.

[Trevor]

Hiya Lr,

I think it was Jesus the carpenter who said that before he became Jesus the son of God....he said, measure twice, cut once, do that twice and you got yourself a perch in which to be nailed upon...little did he know the irony of that saying... I think carpenters also said, don't get your wood from someone else's bushes....and finally, of course, the carpenters also said, "Didn't I tell you that I'd love ya oh baby, baby baby baby baby oh baby"...and...."why do birds, suddenly apppppear, everytime, you are near.....just like meeee, they long to be, close tooo you" but in all seriousness, I think we are on the same page...editing is soooo important....have I mentioned that before?


And this next section is for Geoff....

Another thing I forgot to mention is if you are truly looking to be in print, be a miser with your work and don't just throw out everything into the world, some pieces are best left for oneself or for a web site. Stream of consciousness stuff.... hone your craft first so that everything you say becomes interesting, everything seems relevant.... first become a great writer, learn to connect every idea to a mass audience before you start thinking everyone cares about every little thought you have...don't be eccentric before you have the skills to back it up...I've actually read quite a bit of your work on here, and I'll be blunt -- with all due respect, the vast majority of what you write is crappola, repetative and uninteresting -- some of it literally bores me to tears....however, once in awhile you do put out an interesting piece that is well constructed and meaningful. I mean all that with respect for you and the art of writing. If I didn't give a shit I wouldn't be honest about it. Now I'm not claiming to have some authority on the ins and outs of writing, just going by personal experience so please keep that in mind when you read my comments. I know you love to write, its obvious by the amount you do so, and the amount you post...however love and passion will only get you so far. And if you start boring the pants off publishers, everytime they see a manilla envelope or email from you, they'll be turned off and won't bother reading anything new you've written. The world of publishing is a very cold blooded place and sometimes a writer shouldn't even expect a standard rejection slip, sometimes you just get the silent non response brush off. So keep your material fresh...and again, not to sound arrogant or insensitive, unless you make your material relevant, poignant and unique, no one wants to read it. If I have to read one more boring, plain, woe-is-me, my lover has left me lamenting poem or prose I may just kill myself long before the grief ridden author. Also, keep your submission letters fresh. Standards are great and a good guideline, but add a little flair into it...if they think your letter is somewhat entertaining, they are more prone to look at your work. A great source of who publishes what etc. is "The Writer's Market Guide" published yearly....has a list of most publications not only in the States but many worldwide. It also gives a skivvy on how to write submission letters and so on...though they're pretty cut and dry about it. Plus don't be shy when you submit. I've asked a number of editors for extra feedback and was candid about not having a lot of experience or places to get knowledge from and have recieved a lot of helpful hints and tips. I think many remember starting out themselves and if you remind them of that, they tend to help out a bit....don't expect some nine page critique, but rather they will usually write a sentence or two saying what or what they didn't enjoy about the work....I usually get it was overly descriptive and long winded...which I'm working on curbing. The fact is, as great as this site is, and as many wonderful things I have read here, no publisher is rushing into the land of cyberville to seek out the next great James Joyce....its allllll up to you to make that shit happen. So first I suggest to you, and again, I don't mean this rudely, hone your craft because you are only mediocre on your best day (and I say this knowing I'm at no prize pig as well and have a long way to go)....lose all confidence and realize that you aren't nearly as good of a writer as you may think...deconstruct all you have learned so far and start at the beginning....the basics....look at each and every sentence you've written from a different perspective....let new material sit and go back and edit your old work...then repeat that when your new material becomes your old material....and so forth. Writing is ardous at best, but I'll be damned if it isn't one of the great pleasures of the world.

So I have to ask...are you serious when you ask for advice about publishing or are you just looking for coddling words to tell you that your work should be published or is good enough to be published and so on? Because bluntly, candidly, honestly, it isn't very good. I can barely read it for free let alone pay for it. That does truly sound harsh, and I'm not hiding behind anything, I'm giving you my opinion as a writer and as a reader. Although you seem passionate about writing, I have my reservations if you are serious about being published....I say this because I spent the time offering advice and asking you questions and all you did was post more writing on this thread instead of responding. So to be quite frank, I'd be surprised if any of this or what I previously wrote has sunk in. I think a good indication of what I'm talking about is ironically enough, this very thread. Here on a thread you've entitled, "Publishing Advice Anyone?" the only response on your work was mine and you responded by posting more stories....

So again, I hope none of it came off as harsh, not meant to be....I just care about writing and writers so I feel honesty is the best policy....and also, again, don't take to heart everything I said because I'm just a hack looking to get my stuff out there as well.

Anyways, good luck to ya. Btw, if you want, I'll offer critiques of what you posted to put my money where my mouth is, however, I won't bother if you'd rather me not.

Trev

[Axanderdeath]

great trev lay it on me bro!

[Axanderdeath]

i wanted to ad that I think you ar a god!!

[Axanderdeath]

yOU WANT TO PLAY SOME BASE BALL AFTER CLASS?

[Doreen Peri]

Ps although I respect your comments, you are in no way any better than I am and if you don’t like what you read by me, fucking stop reading it then, plain and simple….

LOL!!!!! Geezzzz, Geoff!

Trevor spent a LONG time writing a lot of good advice about getting published!

Your title requests "publishing advice." That's what he gave you! I'd be thankful someone took the time to offer that much good advice!

If you wanted an editor, you should have titled your stories differently. You should have asked for an editor, not "publishing advice." You get what you ask for. Be clear in your writing so people will know how to reply to you.

If you want an editor, there are editorial services available but they are costly. It would be best to get your work as polished as you can get it prior to using those services.

Trevor's advice was good and he was not condescending to you at all. I know writers can be sensitive, but geeezzzz, Geoff! Your reaction to his comments are a little overboard, don't you think?

Ever since I've known you, you come on the internet and ask for people to "PC" (please critique) your work and then when they do? You get pissed off!

This time, you ask for advice and you get advice and you get pissed off! What's so hurtful about publishing advice? You asked for it!

What's up with you?

[Axanderdeath]

where RE YOU GETTING THAT? I love it when people go word for word and trash my stuff in a civil manner!

TREVOR SENT ME A DEAD MONKEY IN THE MIAL--IT SMELLS--DOES HE WANT IT BACK?

[Axanderdeath]

jk

[Axanderdeath]

yup jCK KEROAUC JK!

[Lightning Rod]

son,

If you persist with your writing as faithfully as you persist with your arrogance, you may eventually have some success. After all, given an infinite number of chimpanzees and and infinite number of typewriters, you may eventually end up with War and Peace.

But until that time, I would suggest that you study this book:

http://www.amazon.com/gp/reader/0205309 ... eader-link

[Axanderdeath]

lr
WHO'D YOU STEAL THAT FROM?

AND ABOUT THIS DEAD MONKEY i THINK i COULD GET IN TROBLE IF i JUST THREW IT OUR--YOU KNOW WHAT IF THE GARBAGE MAN GOT WISE?

[Axanderdeath]

i LOVE THIS--ANY MORE HARSH CRITQUIN!!!

[Axanderdeath]

RING IT ON TREV