Now, Im not entirely sure what this means, but excluding the underlying possibility of the avian flu taking a horrendous turn for the worse, I believe I have grown, mentally jaded. A lost brain, arguing once again, for its yellow brick road.
Some may argue that this habitual response to unavoidable environmental factors is not necessarily a turn to negative regime. After all, the duck is the more charming species of the animal farm, and truth be told, who in their right mind would have it out for a duck? A mole I can understand. Nobody likes a mole. A duck on the other hand. Fucking quack, am I right?
Alas, even within these affirmed consents of understanding, I feel a disjoint. No human should feel the need to act like a duck. I ask, what possible hole does a quack fill that alcohol does not? Is it the pure cadenced sound of 2 hard constants ramming each others throat that gets me all fired up? A hard Q slowly filling up the back side of K.
So hot right now.
Sometimes I wonder about all the time I wasted quacking and ask, what else could I have achieved? A cure for Cancer perhaps? Nay, a revolutionary new source of power! To be completely fair however, quacking has led to a net increase of joy within my life. There is nothing more satisfying than confusing the most sane of individuals with a good hearty quack.
Oh my wasted youth.
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lol
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