You run around for a few years, determined to find the odor of the gears and mechanical wheels that are to be found in clocks and other machines. Your nose is streaked with oil, your fingers are positively coated in the same stuff; and then finally, you are forced to admit . . .
April 24th, 2006 at 11:48 am
i’m sad to say i sat here for like ten minutes, wondering what in the world you were talking about… that’s really and trully an awful awful joke tom; keep it up!