There is nothing of value in my car.
But break in again and I will relieve you of your life, you little maggot.
This is the second time. The first time you took my saxophone, my Horatio.
If it happens again, I will find you, I will bleed you dry through your thieving fingertips, and I will watch the life leave your worthless eyes.
Don't expect much if anything. I plan to slap words upon keys of black and white as the digital poet screams. Soiled thoughts of sadness mixed in with jubilant epiphanies shall crawl across this space. The odd video or two should appear as well. I am not the type to automatically follow back; I will peruse your archive for a while before deciding to follow or not. For more information, type in /blahaboutme at the end of the url.