Bad Company (epilogue)

tick tock tick tock!

i've survived the work week/day. now it's just a matter of waiting out the war...

40 minutes. an eternity.

plan my exit. hop the 1,2,3 or 9 train up town to meet my mate merillon, for a few pints of alcoholic oblivion. this may have ended up the worst year of my fucking life, but it doesn't mean i have to be conscious or sober for the remainder of it. (SUCK ON *THAT*, "GOD"!)

this blog is a lot darker without all the bright pictures. (and, you know, with the increasingly grim content and all...)

either people are too busy or too scared to leave comments here today. i dare you to leave a comment. bring it. the fuck. on.

aren't you all fucking elated that i've returned to writing this masturbatory -- and startlingly thorough -- account of my existenzzz? are you not creaming your fucking diapers?!? are you not smearing-shit-on-your-cell-walls MAD with goddamn, jubilant, ejaculatory, orgiastic, fan-fucking-tastic joy that i have returned to this dumping ground of a soap box? to scream hullo into the rapidy blossoming abyss?