Whilst you post like an indocrinated lapdog :P
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I have a room. It's called the room. I go there. It's fucking fan-tastic.
True story.
It's so good that all of the music I want to blast at people in my family doesn't need to be blasted cos it's only me. So I don't bother myself.
I sit and I think about all of the music I might blast at them. Then I go into the living room and I tell them all about the music I would like to blast at them. They don't believe me cos I've squidged their grey matter from the get-go and they're fucked from day one anyway.
So I pollute their minds with threats about culture, knowing all the while, that all cognizant matter will inevitably worship at the twin temples of Morrissey and Cohen.
Two lab geeks, an accountant, and a misogynist walk into a bar...*
Never mind, you've probably already heard it. :sadwalk:
*Or, feel free to work it into gold. :sly:
Well I'm not.
I don't care if it is a mental construct. I want to get laid too.