I posted this very thing on my Myspace. I have come to the realization that recycled material is good for all environments. If you give me all of the correct band names in this piece, you'll get a prize! It should be pretty easy for anyone that knows me well.
I use Green Rifles to shoot Red Robots on Green Days when I'm accused of being john Dillinger Four times; my real name is Elliott Smith, and I have achieved Nirvana so many times in my life that I am as high as a Bad Astronaut who just purchased a Wagon that Lags from Something that I understood to be as Corporate. I have Descended from the same source as ALL people, viz., Adam and Eve, who must have had the entire human genome coded in their DNA, unless you think some evolution occurred between now and then. In which case I might be wrong. That's what I've heard on the Radio that's in my Head. I live in Creeper Lagoon, a new town with Newfound Glory, a Bad Religion, and No Effects. I can produce no Offspring because of my wife's Swingin' Udders (which makes her known as a Violent Femme fatale), and that only makes me feel Less Than Jake does. That, in turn, makes me as Mad as a Caddy for Jimmy Carter and his Peace Mission (which involves Eating the World). I work in alkali flats with three guys, which makes us an Alkaline Trio; we're Diggers, too, so since all we do is destroy the already barren flats, I guess that would make us Vandals as well. When I'm finished with work, I look, feel, and smell Rancid. I usually read Matthew until I'm Good again and can join my Band of workers. One of them always calls me sam, and he forces me to respond with, "Sam I Am." It seems everyone calls me different things, so I have No Use For A Name. I would really like to Rise Against that notion, but it seems like I'm stuck with the Swindle of having more than one name. It makes me as crazy as a Goo Goo Doll. Agent 51, who works on Operation: Ivy, told me I'm stuck this way forever, but I know that's only Propaganda from Gandhi. I'm so much Weaker Than him. Just once, though, if I could be the one that Saves The Day, then I wouldn't cry like a Screeching Weasel. I just want to walk up to the mirror, look at myself, Face To Face, and tell myself to stop acting like such a Pinhead while stuffing Gunpowder in my 17th century musket. Of course, gunpowder would be everywhere, which will only make me a Weezer. I would like to someday have 88 Fingers just like Louie; that is the Confessional I told my Dashboard. Some people say louie has a Ten Foot Pole, but that's only a Social Distortion. Anyway, this is longer than it needs to be: I'm losing connection with The Network.
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