Update 504

E-- Screw you Blizzo, and your new name, too.
March 8, 9:18 p.m.


R-- Is that a new poem you're writing? It lacks subtlety, but maybe that's what the critics like these days? Anyway, send me a copy so I can use it to compost vegetable peelings. You, sir, are a sot, and only the law (and perhaps a certain sense of decorum that you so notably lack) prevents me from biting my thumb at you.
March 8, 11:52 p.m.


E-- If you bit your thumb at me, would that be your most expert vision of your own critical faculties, that explains your fake moustchio as you haunt brainless slam poetry houses in the basements of the upper-classless, whilst at the same time you have moved the zombie a step forward towards the reinstatement of progress as strictly literal , and you will soon be eating your thumb in confusion, which, I barely need add, would be your foray into performance art, as you slowly vanish into the gasseous universe of your own chronic farting, that nominates you a musician as well? Fuck you, Roberts.
March 9, 8:54 a.m.

R-- Touché. You are probably the only person I know (and possibly the only person in all of human history) who would say something like "you have moved the zombie a step forward towards the reinstatement of progress as strictly literal" and mean it somehow as an insult. Jackass.
March 9, 11:26 a.m.

E-- I love you too.
March 9, 4:33 p.m.

E-- I actually do, which always makes me lose these things with you.
March 9, 4:35 p.m.