if i never return to that mid-city hell-hole called arlington, texas, it will be too soon.
there are but a handful of things that i would rather take a beating than do::
- touch anyone's feet, including my own;
- see a woman's buhgina in the flesh with my very own eyes;
- and help anyone move on the second weekend of texas springtime. especially if it in any way involves going to, through, or near arlington.
i loathed it so much i had to venture to jr's for cocktails afterward to try to purge my memory of the experience. it didn't work as i still remember it in it's entirety. it even caused me to dream about seven tornadoes on sunday night, it was that unpleasant. what the hell could that mean?
in the background::un grosso no:eros ramazzotti
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