my journal

A real journalist never reveals his psoriasis. Many of them work at home now, which can be a site for psoriasis. They also meet in cafes, secreted away. Over orange juice. Or perhaps with a homely wife in tow, as a disguys. My journal is completely private, although it does dwell on matters corporeal, and contains references to colonial times, generally available promotional material, and pure unadulterated hatred of the stupid things I've done. Both of them. Which I do daily. Like a real journalist.
This justin.

I saw a woman in the street this evening. Her dog barked continuously for a dog week. For a weak dog, it was impressive. There was no stopping this dog. Except the fence did. Imagine if all you could do was bark. (Perhaps you don't have to imagine) What a treet that would be. Stick to your gums! I'd say. Then I'd suggest opening a new branch. No, I will never reveal my sorcerers.