Once there was a boy who couldn’t write a story because: 1) Joe had had a more exciting life than he had had, and had had more attempts on his life 2) He drank enough wine that he went swiftly past the free talking zone and went straight into the shoulder shrugging wait until they look the other way zone 3) He couldn’t think of one, nor remember why he had said he would write one every day 4) He couldn’t seem to remember anything 5) the music was too loud 6) carolyn had a weird chin or something but she looked fuckable 7) except he already had a girlfriend, or so he announced but then retracted but then admitted 8 it just wasnt working he would rather masturbate rather sleep rather pet the dog rather sleep sleep sleep sleep he had no stories to tell what was to tell he was born into a soft environment the worst he had to endure was some dumb rich kid psychological shit and even that was questionably interesting the worst thing he had ever done was be a shitty boyfriend i mean he noticed a few things he noticed how when the next track came up on the cd it made the word processor skip a beat because it was all being controlled by the same imperfect CENTRAL PROCESSING UNIT and he couldn’t think of anything interesting to say. All he remembered from the night was this: 1) Boots was beautiful and had a sparkle in her eye 2) and was untouchable 3) Joe was beautiful and had an uneven moustache and a Grand attitude 4) and was somewhat untouchable but not quite_ only because of fear fear fear fear fear fear fear fear fear fear fear fear fear fear fear fea r f fa fa ef eaf fa fa fa fa fa suck fuck pygmie lalalalala ‘i cant do it tonite boys i am sorry i just cant do it.