We're more than shitty Candian singers

She was mouth breather who's lungs sounded like the floor of a movie theater every time she breathed in. Her aura reminded me of using baby wipes, perhaps of those people who blew their nose on them while on the toilet and, not wanting to waste paper, went on the wipe their ass.

Tom Robbins said that their were two kinds of people in the world, "Those who thought that there were two kinds of people in the world, and those that knew better." I had, as of then, had yet to make up my mind one which one I was. Usually, there were only two groups. People that could stand me to a degree, and those who hated my guts.

Lately, I have found myself in the latter half of Tom's description. I found a select group that was completely able to lie to my face while pretending that they could stand me, those whose level of adulation rivaled that of a serf to a king, and those who could stand me in small doses, doses as small as those of arsenic that a beaten wife feeds her drunken husband for years until she had had enough and outright killed him one night.

My affinity for long sentences had been quelled for awhile due to machinations and delusions of grandeur. KISS. Keep it short and simple, or Keep it simple, stupid. I have tried to squeeze every ounce of meaning from single words, while letting my verbosity wane like New Jersey. It is my understanding as of this writing that being loquacious is not tantamount to being verbose.