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i wanna 'nother one like the last one
we form like voltron, the gza happens to be the he...
you would see the biggest gift would be from me
It's such a long time, I've wasted such a long tim...
better watch how you talk when you talk about me
that's what you get stuntin' on my block, show-off...
they say i walk around like I got a S on my chest
you know i'm nice with my cook game
i'm on the hunt i'm after you
make it stop! make it stop!
Friday, February 15, 2008
nausea, bloody red eyes:
A couple years ago I herniated something near my abdomen. When inflamed, the pain is like a steel-toed boot to the testicles. I used it -- legitimately, I contend -- to refrain from helping my roommates move our heaviest furniture into the Flophouse. It's not really something you'd want to aggravate.
Well, aggravate it I have. Walking the dog this morning I felt like sitting on the curb like a vagrant and grumbling to myself. Kingsley was like WHAT ARE YOU DOING C'MON DON'T YOU KNOW WE'RE OUTSIDE C'MONNNNNNN. The last time this happened was after my impromptu Mosul workout with Petraeus, and you can't very well tell company commanders or Provincial Reconstruction Team leaders that you're not going out on a patrol because you're in pain. They'd point you to the FOB Marez gynecologist.
Speaking of. People know that I'm for Obama. But anyone who says a woman isn't tough enough to be commander-in-chief has not seriously thought about what it's like to be a functional human being while gritting teeth through several days' worth of searing pain every 28 days for your entire adult life. How many men could do that? Show of hands.