let's lay some facts down

I think i hate blogs, and i hate myself as a huckster peddling music when i could just have a nice quiet life on some barren terrain in the great white north. If i hear that SS intro song again i'll have to decapitate myself and just go to a nice peaceful grave. And here at my desk i see a thick stack of loser CD's and a knocked over pile of "Business cards"... HA HA HA! Business Cards! Did you get that one!

You could see it coming... a 4 on 2 that needed only to be a 3 on 2 that turned into a close breakaway which lead to a "too many men on the ice" penalty which led to the obvious.

I also hate poetry and others who make what they call art and expect you to take it seriously. Here is an idea... just walk around with a sign hung over your neck in the back alley behind my place and i will check it out on my way down to the fridge for yet another beer.

True i am disappointed that my team lost tonight... but i see it as a positive to be able to reflect on my own miserable failure of a life in order to make things better.

for example: I have heard this... well something to the affect that by me keeping doing what i am doing with respect to music in Vancouver that it is in some way noble and valuable. Well chumps lets think about that for a minute and take a page out of the old real estate book. "Value is what someone is willing to pay"... that's right, pack a big pipe full of that and tell me how you feel after a couple of hauls. A better argument could be made for being a cartilaginous fish swimming off the coast of Hawaii with each eye on a "Hammer like" skeletal formation. Don't get me wrong, i don't want to be some whining jackass, and i do take full responsibility for my manner of existence as i must to right this ship of fools.

The question is. What is it that makes Super Robertson believe that being Super Robertson was ever even in the slightest way a good idea. And beyond that... is there some juvenile mechanism at work in keeping the idea of running a company that sells entertainment that nobody wants. I guess their is a certain satisfaction in creating... but yet, hey my beer is done.