Veni, Vidi, Ventus --
The randomly chaotic and crafty scribblings of a deranged, wannabe artist allowed too many colours in her Crayon box.

Surgeon General's Warning: Some content of "From Pooka's Crayon" may not be suitable for: work, blue-haired little old ladies, the politically-correct, rabid moonbats, uptight mothers, priests, chronic idiots, insurance claims agents, Democrats, children, small furry quadropeds from Alpha Centauri, or your sanity.

Sunday, July 17, 2005

Senile much?

You know you're getting old when ...

... you look at the date and go HUH, what? That can't be!

Only to discover, yes, the date is correct. Why is this relevant?

My birthday is tomorrow, and I totally had no frellin clue whatsoever.



Or maybe its just the fact that I haven't been to bed yet, even though my body passed out about 5 hours ago without the rest of me and my brain just refuses to shut down and accept that sleep is a relatively normal and necessary function of life unless you're a mutant freak with chronic insomnia like me, thus rendering the entire point moot.

Ooo, shiny!

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