Yes Virginia, superheroes can be completely dumb as fuck
duckmonger, I'm in KL, we should meet up and shoot the shit. 5 year plans and methadone, the love life of howard taft v. the love life of edgar hoover. Maggots as delicacy v. maggot as ugly fucking thing. These are but a sampling of the conversations. I think you have my phone number, I'm here until the 21st, but since my mom moved out, I'll be shuttling between Bukit Ceylon, KLCC and Damansara, cuz she lives in Damansara, works in KLCC thus we lunch there occasionally. But too much info.

no one needs the fiery bootay.

There are so many reasons why I hate analysis. I want to make a subdivision of literary criticism called "comic book logic", where critics employ tropes like the half-naked heroine, who doesn't wear a bra, yet has perfectly buoyant tits, always in some half-assed disaster set piece that requires wits rather than using her superpowers. Just goes to show that yes Virginia, superheroes can be completely dumb as fuck.
Ohhhh I hate analysis. The formality makes me want to kill the implied reader and skewer the nuts of the editor, regardless of its gender. Formulaic to the Core. My tasks are as follows: Analyse Baudelaire through Poe's short story, "the man of the crowd", which I like alot, because these are practical theories, I can employ Baudelaire's logic of thought as I walk down the street. It's exhaustive to be someone else though, especially when you don't know who yourself is. I have a theory before I proceed with this rant, from 5 years old we only one profession we are destined to grow up to be: A clown. Everyone loves taking the piss, getting the attention, loving the adulation of classmates, and the classmates love to give it. clowns, all of us.
I'm not going to be able to finish this rant, so consider it shelved until I either calm down (stoned) or become enraged some more (realised I haven't had sex for 20 years again).

Uh, subconscious pretentiousness/poshness isn't all too interesting... Well five hands kind of gives him an edge over the other monkeys, elevating him but rejecting him from monkeydom. No, it perfectly betrays the spirit I feel inherent in your writing, you are not being true to yourself, hence, no, it is not what I want at all. Scrap, redo. I suppose I felt affinity to the five-handed monkey because I just whipped it up in my head, but he's the guy going to be drawing the thing. It is helpful to know what you think.

Making a comic right now, we've engineered a five-handed monkey who fights a large-sombreroed hombre named Dr. Class. Ahmed wants everyone's name who begins with a C to then begin with a K, like Dr. Klass. If we name the monkey Caleb, it'll have to be Kaleb. I said, "Christ" and gave him a spiel about needless aesthetic refining. I pose the question to you two, the five-handed monkey has been tweaked to have a cork in his head so he can pour a well-aged vintage of port into a glass to drink. So he pours the contents of his head into a glass then drinks it to get drunk. There's another tweak but it completely lost my interest. I felt crowded. Reading Nathael West's Day of the Locust. Port-pouring skull-bones! It's a novel where that term might fit right in.

i will see you in a few days han. party.