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I pass the genius of that remark along to Gerard K H Love It is a quote of his I left unattributed . . . And this is his inspiration:

If you have any kind of criminal record you're screwed. Other than that it's all good.

good eye Ruby.

Oh you ain't seen nothin yet, man. . . C l i c k

I fucken want one . . . Oh. Sorry to hijack the thread. Good work guys. . . :o

Hey! Okay. Okay. Okay. Let's get some ground rules straight here. First: No posting links to privately hosted copies of copywrite protected material. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes I know that some Stooge got the ball rolling by doing just that. The links have all been deactivated. The last thing...

Hear some of her songs on MySpace. http://www.myspace.com/factotumsoundtrack

J. Geils Band - Whammer Jammer

You get to ask the next question.

Should be easy: Q.) Who named that cat?

Go ahead. We won't tell.

Thanks.

Goddit. Thanks.

The first one which comes to mind is Poem For My 43rd Birthday While he doesn't mention his age in the poem, the title of the poem is his age.

How much? $24 ? I'm interested.

Also thanks. Any official word on the release date?

I like my vodka chilled. Let me know what you think of Pulp, if you read it. It's among the last things he ever wrote. . . ;)

Or. . . alternately, Bill might pick up on the idea. :-^ (< - - - that me whistling inconspicuously. isn't it rilly cute? . . .)

Ahhh! Got it.

Best to study before the test. . . ;)

FTW? Nothing really cryptic about my tattoo, and I don't mind talking about it if you are curious. The spider web on my elbow arose out of my frustration. I had been stuck in some life situations for quite a number of years, and felt I wasn't making any progress. Hence, the symbolism of the...

Ahh! On this item of business. Bukowski wrote to Al Purdy on January 24th, 1965. Bukowski writes: I hated New York, although my first published story came out in STORY in 1944 and I saw the magazine first while I was passing by a drugstore thinking about suicide. It was a very odd feeliing...

In his leters to Al Purdy he talks about it. It's more like... Yeah. I should really commit suicide. . . type bullshit, rather than extended plans of measuring rope, etc. When Purdy responds in kind, Bukowski writes back: Was I talking about suicide? It's easier to get drunk... So...