downloading the power of satan into a russian ceramic dish set...

Maybe I can understand the power of my brain if I use the whole thing instead of just ten percent. That's it. That's the key to life. It's not forty two or run on sentences that force the reader to continue thinking because they have realized that the thought they are experiencing isn't finished yet which is frightening to them because they have the attention span of a nanosecond due to the instant coffee one hour photo instant gratification lifestyle of the good ol' US of A. It's just using the full potential of that fat slab of grey matter between your ears that is three feet above your ass and isn't your hairpiece that was made in the swiss alps by snow bunnies. And by snow bunnies I mean actual rabbits that live in a wintry environment and not slutty bimbo chicks. Although, who could complain about either? Both are cute cuddly and only good for one thing. Novelty candy manufacturing. Maybe in a perfect world where I don't make incorrect movie references(Yes, I am still thinking about that, thank you very much) I can begin to understand the ability within me. Then when I have enough time in the god damn day to finish all I set out to do in that single twenty four hour period I can rule the world with an iron skillet I fry tofu in with eggplant and some garlic and olive oil. That sounds good. I should really cook more complexly for myself. Another thing I have to learn!!!!!!!!!!! Where in the almighty effing hell did I get this idea that I could begin to do everything I set out to do? It's like my parents raised me with the idea that if I set my mind to it I can do anything. Shit me out on a cracker and call it pate. I feel like a fit of laughter after it's over. You know that feeling? The one of longing and wonder. The longing for what you feel like you are missing and the wonder of how it will never most likely in all chances in hell happen and how you can find something that is at least semi good enough to take your mind off of it. Whoa, that was not on subject at all. That is one of those sentences that is going to get me a phone call about if I am okay or not. HINT HINT.
Two rabbits are walking through a field of strawberries and they are talking the usual things rabbits talk about. Life, love, taxes, and how to call upon satan for magical powers and useful hand tools to make small wooden objects with more easily without one of those pesky "contracts" for their souls. One is named Carl and the other is named %%(#*#*$&*&%$fivetwosixnineeightbennytomsixsixsixsplecstein, or paul for short as his junior high schoolmates used to call him. In high school he was known as shitstaincriesforhismomlikeabitch. He didn't much care for that nickname so he went by the one from previous years of his life, you know, the ones he enjoyed and didn't cry himself to sleep every night trying to figure out a way to get a fucking lemonade without having to sing sitting on the dock of the bay with his pants down in front of the varsity cheerleading squad while they cheered and spelled out dip-shit for the whole fucking school. So, Carl and "Paul" and walking along and "Paul" tells Carl that he has ebola and is dying from it, as if the vomiting black shit that is actually his insides decomposing and spilling out his mouth wasn't obvious enough, and Carl is now most likely infected and will be suffering a most horribly painful death as well that could have been easily avoided if he had just paid that parking ticket he got in 1986. The moral of this story is simple. If you don't see it I can't help you. If you really want to know just ask the guy with ebola who lives next door to you. It's true, one in three people in america has ebola and the funny part is that they got it from making sandwiches with mayonnaise. Tell all your friends.