Le Guerré Against My Lungs
I picked up a hell of a cold, or, in the parlance of our times, hella cold, which, really, is hellappropriate for a segue at the end of this paragraph, but I am presented with the problem that, here I am, one sentence into the motherfucker, trying and failing to pull a Vollmannesque stream-of-consciousness one-sentence picture show, and I've got no goddamned idea how to turn it around other than to say the cold knocked me the fuck out, and forced me to take Monday off to go home and sleep the rest of the day; I'm a little better now, for sure, but man, did that suck some major donkey balls. Failure is a second sentence.
Le Guerré Against My Leg
I was sick, is all. Fucking sick. Then Tuesday, feeling a little better, I managed to injure myself, and bled some, which always does wonders for making you forget you're sick, right? Right. For a while. I think I need more iron in my blood. It's not quick to clot, and tastes less salty and full than usual. You have to taste it, yo. It's coming out of your leg. You clean it up, then you squeeze it, then you taste it. Besides, what else you gonna do? Just leave DNA evidence behind like that? Fool.
Le Guerré Against Leisuretime
It's all so complicated. Effort is for suckas. On the real. I hereby cordially invite anyone who wants to go, to go to see Digital Underground, September 15th, 2006, at Avalon. I'm going, regardless. One major regret I had about leaving the area the first time was that I never got to meet Greg Jacobs. No more fucking around, life is too short.
Actually, I totally disagree with that; life is entirely too long. Digression.
Anyway, I'm looking forward to it, and not just because it's fucking walking distance from here. In fact, I may try to see them in SF this Friday, as well. I fly by the seat of my pants! I'm a crazy man! From around 6:00pm til 11:00pm on weekdays, and sometimes as late as midnight on weekends! And stuff.
Also, I want to see Little Miss Sunshine. I may do that this Saturday, in the afternoon, as, after work on Friday, I'm headed up to the city to catsit for my friend E, who gets back into town on Sunday. I've been borrowing her car this week, but other than driving from the city down to here, it's sat unused in the garage the whole time. I might take it to Target tomorrow after work to buy a broom. Then again, I might not. Six lights isn't that far to walk carrying a broom, it's not like the things weigh 75 lbs or something.
Le Guerré Against Poops
Since I was knocked the fuck out all day on Monday, I didn't manage to eat anything. This resulted in some serious water-poops the next day. I'm happy to say, though, that things are back to normal now, and the poops are rockin'. They say you can tell what a person is made of by the substance of their poops. I'm apparently made of corn.
Actually, I'm not. It was just too nasty an image to pass up. I'm sure you understand.
Le Guerré Against My Ears
But mainly Ratatat. Holy shit.
Also, could whoever broke the internet please get it fixed? That'd be great, thanks. It's seriously not my fucking day to watch it. Check the calendar, yo. Sadly, time to post this, then disappear from the network for five or six hours. Maybe I'll get a cool new injury to take pictures of! Wish me luck!
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