Sit up and listen!

It died. The internet died on me and the family, so the post wasn't posted before. I couldn't, it couldn't – who's to blame, really...

[Quick tips in slow motion.]

Episode:

On life without the Internet.

(Or The death of internet; immortalitate.)

Well, as far as I can see back in this lifetime of mine - I am not an animal nor a tree. Human. Basic. Therefore I can only try to speak instead of those other and outer worlds that are aware what living without internet is about.

Why is the internet? From air some pigeon might say: the internet is a wind of some sort, not even wind - more like a breeze; unnoticeable - of errorish kind, but in lesser magnitudes, which the great magnetic field don't mind and is not disturbed by it, as could be seen with pigeon-super-ability just above my pigeon smile. For I again am happy. The internet returns, like that chick-phoenix from the ash-tray.

Where does the internet poop? Well, the best thing is to tell the truth about this one, I think. If I am your manchild, asking you the question mentionable (is it to far or is it to soon with this one?), you can tie a knot with the real story behind the pond-baby-stork scandal. But the poop question pops out again pretty fucking soon after that poor decision of yours. So, you can always prove to your »baby Jeesuh«, that "The net" is made of wires which are filled with (or full of) shit. Internet are therefore shitfull wires, logically.

Can internet be your pet, your lover or a friend? This I would really like to know. But not so much, that I'd ask the dude from faculty of computer-sciences, or whatever. Others don't give a damn about the anatomy of internet, do you? Confess.

Back to the animal kindom. I strayed too far out. Ok, what do lions know about this topic, about internet (in case you wondered off on me)? You can't consider them as kings of any sort, can you? They're to ignorant to have any other role outside the artfield. Lions and lionesses are the boems of the savannah. Elephants are hudge. Hyenas rule the savannah. Pigeons rule concrete.

Over and out. Time's up. Internet »ist hungrig«, roaring for more shit and you know yours trully; he be postin' and postin' whatever, ouyeah, baby.

Post scriptum How do you get rid off this French dude in my ear, trying to say l'Krankenwagen right?