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older/gbook/>>(in
case of__)__//before&after
___my youtube__... My novel 2004.. My novel 2006.. My novel 2008.. (diaryland) April 19, 2001 - 6:48 p.m. If you hadn't noticed, I was very bored at work today and wrote STACKS of diary entries. Here's another one. Sometimes, at work, there�s a phone call. Either it�s a fax machine that somehow knows how to beep once every time you finish saying something, or else, it�s the best long-term prank call scheme ever. Or maybe it�s just some guy who can�t talk who lives on his own and just wants to hear someone say something. Whatever it is, it�s happened quite a few times now and I feel secure enough in our relationship to take it a little further. Next time it happens, I�m going to have a conversation with it. I still can�t figure out whether it is actually a machine and I�m just hoping it isn�t, or if it�s some guys laughing at me. I don�t know what I�m going to say to it yet, if or when it�s going to happen again, or how many people will be in the office staring at me like I�m some kind of loon when the first thing that comes into my mind to say to the machine is �wibble�, among other concerns. I don�t even know whether I�ll have the nerve to actually talk to it next time. I mean, what does one say to something that may or may not have a lung capacity? ______________ Now here's a poem. It's fictional. I'm thinking of using it in a poem competition or something. Tell me what you think, punk. The best revenge is living well
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