@leylabluetoo•« shoulda, coulda, woulda »
jumps up and down like some wild, Greek, bad bitch, meet @_annamagnani go shopping in the open market on holiday in Sardinia, the island next to Sicily with the best Botarga— you will know, probably @guyaroch or @wine.gini who will have spent an entire month, although what she could be doing, because the place is dead— but they get back and dance like this.
They then get into an awfully drunken row, curse, scurrying scurrilously all the while, downstairs to the courtyard, pour le postprandiaux; wear each other’s clothes to a film, pick up a sailor, have another fight; Leyla wins, make-out with the passed out sailor, eat breakfast with a pichet full of his change, all to let us know, that if you take care of yourself and exercise you can look good at 33.
Tweets by leylabluetoo
i grew up playing for family and friendsin my living room ...
so acoustic stuff always feels like home to me :)
so excited to share with you guys,
listen to "silence"here
Intensely depressing pre-show gyoza at Yo Sushi in Worcester. I didn’t eat them. And I fucking eat *everything*. pic.twitter.com/RhSbfYmDlk
— David Baddiel (@Baddiel) 6 février 2020
See @T @Twitter -- technically more 'twitter': a virtual mirage, or perhaps, more closely resembling an obfuscatory 'dark shadow web' doppelganger inadvertently sanctioned and hosted by each country's state, city and district, where there postal service offers for rental a dedicated addressable brick and mortar Post Office box, auto-posting parasitical sisterling mirror proxies, archiving as initial conglomerator / intermediary / virtual amanuensis / forward-post site; now, diversionarily subverting Tweetgiant Twitter through rakes and @T's consuming neuroses, URL hostaging, if he were witty, maybe piratical sharecropping, or perhaps, voluntary abrogation of virtual rights previously consigned by you on your initial hungry (grocery store) or carlessness (online?) contract, whereby all (not just you, baby) who upon signing invisible paperless contract in order to utilize hot site (x) (i didn't mean it that way, but now that I think about it, that works), do whatever it is that one would never normally do under such extreme anti-conducive conditions of duress, concerning the time frame for posting photographs of yourself on an extremely good hair day, before work, so must agree by a digital submission of a veritable virtual signature for the pleasure, or pay to do the same but with money too, as a 'paying member,' enabling you to utilize or participate in the service which the site offers.
@T's more unorthodox twist on this very same business model, in the case of Twitter, whose major distinguishment with a difference is its sitewide policy and enforced maximum limiting of length of each post (Tweet) to the controversial maximum number of characters allowable on each Tweet, internet experts write about his third-party social media column written his essay the respective geoculinary history, according to region or a reaction and response gyoza
[a]t Yo Sushi [W]orcester. And I f***ing [sic - expletive against @instagram #instagram_kids @insta_gramprofanity #instagramtosviolation] eat *(sic incorrect usage asterisk)everything^(sic incorrect usage carot)]}. [sic whitespace] Also, I noticed they’ve [have] changed the menu there [sic omitted comma] so now there’s [ hardly any actual raw fish on rice. I said to the waitress:“Have they changed the name to NoSushi?” Nothing. Not even a smile.even before the lights get hot, and before his stand-up gig begins looking for all intents and purpose looks like something, just as this is something that he found, exactly like what he found -- the kind of thing a neurotic, Jewish, British, comedian, whose level of stardom hovers somewhere between Louis CK and schlubby Jim Gaffigan, with the kids ... works clean? Him, from the States.
I have already thought of the restaurant, where the strange Frankenstein one-man stand-up act, le monstre so great, it can but rival Lou and Abbot, Jerry and Dean, and George and Gracie -- why, it would grab a little Chicken and an Egg Roll -- right there at that horrible American Chinese chain restaurant, you know, the one your parents insist is better than the real Chinese Chinese restaurant farther down the street in the strip mall--Louis CK and Jim Gaffigan's son is eating at a Chinese-American restaurant previous to his 9 PM Comedy Show at the mid-size University venue near downtown, the intimate 1,400 seat theater named after the local newspaper owner, wen up walks his server like he's just robbed TWO banks, saying, 'Hi, my name is Stephen, and I'll be your server tonight at P. F. Changs. May I start you with anything to drink?'
A 'Gyoza,' which in your comment of +3d ago, you rhetorically ask its
cultural
authenticity and regional authority of methods utilized to keep traditional food popularly consumed in Japan and Asian countries, methods, including, 'fried,' the variation for which Mr. Baddiel opts for and regrets, convincingly explaining why his is not the best review, then giving hell on that same, sad, fried, dough-pillow of porky goodness and soy sauce and vinegar.
Mr. Baddiel complains, his preference for dish x in question, fried gyoza, whose picture Mr Baddiel provides for this Tweet, probably owing to the fact that he is not worried about being extradited by Her Majesty the Queen's Royal invocation to President Trump for whatever it is he might have now done to earn such a hard invitation to reject in a country where things are perhaps a little less fastidious than he may be accustomed.
There is some question among a divided group of Internet organizations, such as the Internet Overlord overseen and co-established by one of the six great Internet beasts lording over its agency of servitude and constant flux, the great hallowed beneficiary and lovechild's daughter was more like six years younger than she said she was.
It would have been non-viable, or she would have been advised to terminate the pregnancy for the health of the mother, too young to foster him herself, his almost came through of cigarettes and a father, recently knighted by her Majesty in his ultimate magniloquence, Sir Tim Warners-Lee the tangential
potentate at
server
hub
HQ
W3C,
where you will also find Tantek Cilek, on his own, senior self-radicalized, semantic champion, and unflagging promoter of its new coding iteration, clean, compact, HTML5, and its queer eye for the straight guy's put together little friend CSS3, thought up by buddy inventor, that Eric Meyers, Cleveland genius well hailed, with more years between these two than any other besides newly made OBE, the Knight whose invention he helps oversee, and for whose non-participation its benefit, ultimately override its detriment.
- and
publishing one's own intellectual property by proxy through a third-party site or social media host such as Instagram and Facebook, whose parent company is now the same, and which makes that company and its sub-companies, almost 90% of all of the social network and ad revenue profit which by hard work, merit and longevity, you secured the first foothold in the burgeoning super-industry, along with the other giant of its glory Steve Jobs, whose absence from its stage somehow brightens his celebrity and celerity in the minds of the public as to who is and will always be the first, the brightest, the earliest to mourn, the most aesthetically pleasing, and the much more enigmatic, attractive candidate for Legacy Internet Guy (but not tonight, intrusive voice in my head only I can hear. Away with you.
And on my knee, I the King, now ask you my future bride, where we will rule in pleasure domes...concentrate, nerdbreath ... your hand in marriage, where unlike OJ's, it fits like a glove, destined to be but whereas me, I'm just the Nerd King, Nerdy Nerderston, the on-again off-again world's richest man, which will make you, incidentally more richer, AND less poorer, depending on rises and falls of a varying barometer of lovelorn frustrations, we all wish you'd answer to his ministrations, the Goldilocks answer no good is it here, the hotter the better, whose green house it thrive, where hot things do grow, codething, I think I love you, you know: but I wanna know for sure.
You're planted in Silicone Valley, the girl whom I gave up, once rich did seek to rally, fantasy whose headers in HTML, I'm precisely the guy who deserves Billionaire.
I talk code like Apache, but clean up like Jay-Z, why don't you make yourself happy and take this ring, consider it bling, and lets ball back to my crib, and stare at DaVinci, while I get Ben and Jerry and seduce thee to Tunechi!
heShe