Fugly is the attention-whoring that symbolizes our era. Fox News. MSM. Reality. Letting fugly into your day voluntarily is like cleaning yourself with an orbital sander. Gather the beauty, ye rosebuds. We desecrate when we absquatulate. Where was I when:

Crapping beneath your station is a consequence of a taste of regression (turf), the return of Montezuma and modem non-operandi. Even Dreamland has its non-Chamber days but it's like a dust speck on Mona Lisa...why elaborate? Today's station is leisure-on-the-Flamingo, a bit of post-doctoral compromise to tai-chi where the forehands used to reign. Encrusted roughy along with rice and veggies promises to break the spell of not-so-healthy selections irrigated by Chuckie and the ever satisfying zin. It's another Forestall the Decline moment brought to you by wisdom instead of trend. I came here to optimize the duration and getting rebalanced when the need appears is welcomed in our shroud of love. Sitting in the passenger's seat has so many advantages. So the Mars Rover says there was a watery past there. Mine was diluted by distilled stupors but the permanent effects are blanched by infused tactile consecrations frequently offered up there when the lights extinguish.

made sense (it was May 2007 and the Flamingo reference was the geezer workouts the preceded PMR). I'm getting that, quote - MMXII is going to be bitchin', gnarly and fulfillment of the eternal dream.Unquote. Sassy.