Lucky 13

Ah yes. It is Wednesday again. It's time for another rant.

I'll say this much. I am very, very, very, very, very, very, very,very, very, very, very, very, very, very,very, very, very, very, very, very, very,very, very, very, very, very, very, very,very, very, very, very, very, very, very worried.

Okay, it's not that bad, but I was having fun.

First, the war on toast has been quiet. Too quiet. Most likely something is wrong. Very, very, very, very, very, very, very,very, very, very, very, very, very, very,very, very, very, very, very, very, very,very, very, very, very, very, very, very,very, very, very, very, very, very, very wrong. Horribly wrong. Terribly wrong. I think Patrick Suanda is up to no good (unless you don't like toast, in which case he's your greatest ally). And Aninimous is wasting his time chasing after thirty foot tall, um, people. And he's got his family involved in a single incidence of dancing like a penguin.

Anyway, I am now not too busy to continue.

It seems as if I am some sort of bizarre guide to this blog that is rapidly becoming a confusing web of, for lack of a better word, stuff. (Why am I becoming a guide? I don't know. I really don't. It just seems like I'm giving updates of the blog's status, and explaining confusing stuff.) As Jasmine so kindly observed, my posts are getting weirder and weirder. Look around Jasmine. The entire blog is getting weirder and weirder. For example, on your last post, there was only one giant paragraph.

Eat your freakin' cheese and live!
(How's that for weird, Jasmine?)

Peter Rosen

P.S. I didn't come up with the previous quote. My sister did.