Lucky Charms and molasses oatmeal rock my ass off like Slayer
I'm really getting into the semi-oldskewl oatmeal shit. I mean, I'm still using an instant oats system (complements of rolled oats), but other that the modification for speed made to the cereal the basic principle for homemade oatmeal has remained in tact for centuries. That sounded really sterile and fun. But seriously, I was feeling a bit fucked up this morning (still am...as if there's a knife in my throat--sweet) so I wanted something that would be good for me and go down smooth. Rasin bran flakes are a motherfucker on the throat, so I thought I'd steer clear. Instead I poured some oats into a bowl and mic-ed them. I even used molases instead of sugar (mostly because it was less effort to find the molasses than to find the new location of the brown sugar...I guess someone slammed the old container down too hard on the counter and broke it).
Myself and my bro finished my box of Lucky Charms at 12 last night. Nothing like cereal straight out of the box.
Ya. I don't have enough energy to write about my rockin time in Dryden this week(end). Suffice to say, throwing house parties in someone else's house is way too much fun. I might get addicted.
Not a big fan of the sterility of television or this house I'm living in. Although, to be fair, a lot has beed changing in this household's environment -- and for the better.
Mel and co. finished watching Signs, I guess it was, last night and then I popped on the live Slayer VHS I stole from Lewis. I could just tell that all of us grew up living in the shaddow of bands, and people, like Slayer folk. And seriously, I knew it was better than anything I could find on TV anyways. Because really, how can you beat a horror movie inspired light show, a race of hooligans with only index and pinky fingers on their hands and hair over their faces, and guitar solos as dischordant as a cheery voice in a world of malice? That's right fuckers, you can't.
Myself and my bro finished my box of Lucky Charms at 12 last night. Nothing like cereal straight out of the box.
Ya. I don't have enough energy to write about my rockin time in Dryden this week(end). Suffice to say, throwing house parties in someone else's house is way too much fun. I might get addicted.
Not a big fan of the sterility of television or this house I'm living in. Although, to be fair, a lot has beed changing in this household's environment -- and for the better.
Mel and co. finished watching Signs, I guess it was, last night and then I popped on the live Slayer VHS I stole from Lewis. I could just tell that all of us grew up living in the shaddow of bands, and people, like Slayer folk. And seriously, I knew it was better than anything I could find on TV anyways. Because really, how can you beat a horror movie inspired light show, a race of hooligans with only index and pinky fingers on their hands and hair over their faces, and guitar solos as dischordant as a cheery voice in a world of malice? That's right fuckers, you can't.
