'Strip the wires,' she'd say.

And they'd fall for each other again, a gravity effect.

Intimacy without ideas.

Not bad.

'I know. But who would go there?'

'Dolly would.'

'That's what I said.'

Etc.

Just remember we are the amateur in this bio warfare game and nature is the pro.

It also looks like the "survivalists" are not as crazy as people think. Make preperations we have hard times comming soon.

The best solution is to desentralise the food supply and keep it local to help curb bio vector contamination.

The easy life is comming to an end.

And banged out bad pictures on road-signs.

It doesn't have to be the end.

'My dick is like Brian Eno: enigmatic, occasionally frustrating, and more interesting in theory than in practice, but works great with other people.'

'My penis is like a Leonard Cohen song: everyone likes it better when it's covered.'

'My dick is like Rage Against The Machine: it leans quite a way to the left.'

'My junk is like Men Without Hats: pretty much only known from that video with a midget.'

'My dick is like Tom Waits: performs like it was soaked in a vat of bourbon, left hanging in the smokehouse for a few months, and then taken outside and run over with a car, but goddamn does it have a dedicated cult following.'

'My vagina is Thom Yorke. It is droopy and sad to look at.'

Something Awful

'Just an enormously disappointed catholic.'