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This is where you stick random tidbits of information about yourself.
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föstudagur, október 08, 2004
Cancel Brighton, let's go to Reykjavik this Weekend
Jamm.
Hommar og lesbiur i UK aettu nu ad vera komin med helgarplonin a hreint.
Ekkert ad hafa i Brighton thegar althjodlegt thing homma og lesbia stendur yfir i Reykjavik.
Eda eitthvad alika.
Mer skilst ad Brighton se vanalega svolitid camp.
En ekki nu um helgina.
Nu er rodin komin ad Reykjavik.
Camp in Reykjavik!
Annars fin stemming i Guildford.
Foreldrar Maju komu hingad i gaer og gistu sidustu nott. Forum a upphalds Thai stadinn okkar i gaer og attum gott kvold.
Thau og Maja keyrdu svo afram til Woodbridge i dag.
Eg er thvi einn i kotinu yfir helgina en a von a Alex the Greek i heimsokn i kvold.
Aetlum ad fa okkur pizzu og bjor.
Landsleikur a morgun. England - Wales.
Madur reynir ad na honum a pubbnum og detta i sma stemmingu.
Verdur liklega hitaleikur.
Svo verdur bara tjillad i kotinu.
Kveik i arninum og lesid i bok Andrew Marr um journalism in Britain.
Kannski madur gluggi adeins i tolfraediskruddurnar.
Tharf ad fara ad taka a honum stora minum her hja Arkenford. Logistic regression job framundan.
Gaman ad thvi.
Simon, vinnufelagi, kom med allt Megadeth safnid sitt i vinnuna i gaer og leyfdi mer ad vista diskana a harda disknum. Fekk alls 5 diska med bandinu goda.
Eg er thvi i godum rokk - eda thrash - gir um thessar mundir.
Spurning um ad splaesa svo a sig nyja disknum - 'The system has failed' - sem faer edaldoma.
Rokkid er ad koma aftur.
Rokkarnir geta ekki thagnad.
Eins og skaldid sagdi.
Hef lika verid hlusta mikid Tom Waits undanfarid.
Fint ad fa hann til ad roa mann nidur eftir allt thrashid i Dave Mustaine & co.
Er alltaf svolitid swag fyrir thessum texta.
Diamonds on my windshield.
Diamonds on my windshield
Tears from heaven
Pulling into town on the Interstate
Pulling a steel train in the rain
The wind bites my cheek through the wing
Fast flying, freway driving
Always makes me sing.
There's a Duster tryin' to change my tune
Pulling up fast on the right
Rolling restlessly, twenty-four hour moon.
Wisconsin hiker with a cue-ball head
Wishing he was home in a Wiscosin bed
fifteen feet of snow in the East
Colder then a welldigger's ass.
Oceanside it ends the ride, San Clemente coming up
Sunday desperadoes slip by, gas station closed,
cruise with a dry back
Orange drive-in the neon billin'
Theatre's fillin' to the brim
Slave girls and a hot spurn bucket full of sin.
Metropolitan area with interchange and connections
Fly-by-nights from Riverside
Black and white plates, out of state,
running a little bit late.
Sailors jockey for the fast lane
101 don't miss it
Rolling hills and concrete fields
The broken line's on your mind.
Eights go east and the fives go north
The merging nexus back and forth
You see your sign, cross the line,
signalling with a blink.
The radio's gone off the air
Gives you time to think
You ease it out and you creep across
Intersection light goes out
You hear the rumble
As you fumble for a cigarette
Blazing through this midnight jungle
Remember someone that you met
One more block; the engine talks
And whispers 'home at last'
It whispers, whispers, whispers
'home at last', home at last.
Hljomar samt betur med undirspili.
Kontrabassinn i godum gir.
16:32
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