if bugsy were a flavor of ice cream, what flavor would it be.

let the chips fall where they may.

place the chips.

after over a year, i finally know what robin tastes like.

look at me, i'm invisible.

it's not how much you write in paper, but how much you write in heart.

well that just happens to be my middle name.

i've got more ideas than a kangaroo's got hops.

the persistant pursuit to persaude passion.

you girls played them like a tamborine.

monument to europe.

back to blan and boring, where nothing is new, only familiar.

from a dreamscape to reality, it's hard to face with glazed eyes.

have i ever told you you're the center of my universe, and that my world revolves around you.

apple sauce is winning.

my friends call me ben.

keep your beans rollin' bro.

life would be boring if i knew what i was going to be when i grow up.

if only bin laden wore pink, the world would run like a chocolate factory, with lots of happy customers.

may the verve be with you.

you got verved.

throw out your books of pimpometry, and pick up your book of bugsyology.

i tried to rock once, but i fell and broke my nose.

and touching your face gently, and kissing your eyes closed, for a wish upon wishing dreams that only angels alike may share.

my six week love, experience, passion, hope, and faith have all been thrown to the bowels of hell.

the entire bowl of chips fell on the floor.

oh...speaking of barbwire...

pop, sweep, and stick.

i'm just another tree in the woods.

and one ladle of b.rock love sauce.

i'm just a peach without the cream.

just a regular buffoon with an extra bling bling soul.

in a bling bling world you'd be my 24 karot studded dubs.

pick a topic and i'll make it spin like an old 45, flip it twice and make it rhyme.

if only fruit could spell.

and love her extra on every day it's today.

a person who limits themselves as to what's beautiful, is only rejecting the truth of beauty.

i'm not a wise man, i'm just the son of one.

good evening your royal rawrness.

the more you talk the less you hear.

i'm just the little bean that didn't lose its cool.

every cereal box has it's surprise, and that's mine.

doubt it the first hurdle, and shoe laces are the faith.

chiefly british.

naps are for pimps only.

for the last time...it has no point.

and i will call this home for eight months, a.k.a. my love pad.

it all begins/began with a question.

now how's that muffin to swallow, huh.

i'm more than just the product of my environment.

the individualistic illusion.

hiccup, rawr, and live on forever more.

like vanilla.

enjoy the flavor of life.

asymptotic bliss.

i'll be the only one around here doing any dudering.

it's all about the movement.

twice the boy i used to be.

i'm not going to be the stereotype of the world.

passion vegetable.

shooting myself in the foot with a double barrel nurf gun.

i'm seeing all the old chips.

sometimes when you throw jello at a fan you get mashed potatoes.

i hate when i write on an oyster with an ink pen and then it blows up like a marshmallow on shrooms.

sometimes when i'm chewing a piece of gum i form it into the shape of a key to unlock my door.

it's really strange when you walk five steps and think you have walked three, so you back track two steps, and by then have actually walked seven steps.

if your window is open and at the same time a pixel on your screen flickers, sometimes one of your toes will fall off.