Thursday, August 22, 2002

you know, a guy can

you know, a guy can think, hey I’m hot shit, I can write poetry and cook figs and all this great stuff, I’m so special, and then you find a message like this scratched into the paint on the wall by the urinal and it makes you reevaluate everything:

the one who writes
on the walls
has very tiny
tiny balls

now thats art