Oxygen is so boring

As is short-term memory. And typing and word processors and blogs and all my CDs and candles and lava lamps and furniture and drums and books and Burger King and Home Depot and Sony and Rolling Stone and laundry and beer and pot and drugs and cigarettes and no time and work and work people who look like the monster from phantom of the opera and have no time for hobbies or interests and are only going to age disgustingly and DVDs and South Park and porno and blank canvases and pastels and oils and writing and birth control and rubbers and abortions and nose rings and belly button rings and Doc Martens and moshers and pogo-ing and Bruce Springsteen and ripped t-shirts and stuffed animals and the newsstand and the diner and yin yang and go-go dancers and missing screws and theaters and divas and red lights and slow people and radio reception and cell phone antennas and car washes and birthdays and greeting cards and out-of-season fruit and telemarketers and nitrogen and the edge of the continent and bottles filled with sand and tides of high and low. Serve the servant. Oh, no.