seems i've always got something on the tip of my tongue.    ©

Tuesday, September 19, 2006

Go Away, World. Ain't No Welcome Mat No More.

AGH! I'm sick! Motherfucking bug-ass virus thing has bit me but good. Like I have any time at all for this shit? What's the most valuable part of your body when it comes to podcasting? Ding! Your head! You're absolutely right! Your prize is the all-new Sweet Fuck All! Now comes in cherry flavour!

I sound like I was bred by frogs.

And raised by smokers.

Yeah. You heard me. I's sexy. So sexy. [Croak.] I'm cursed. There will never be a podcast. Ever.

At least I have my sense of humour, and opposable thumbs. That's not too shabby. I can make shadow puppets. And laugh. There. All one needs for a decent life.

Head colds suck. Soon it will move into my chest. Then, bronchitis. Then, laryngitis. Let's hope we skip steps two to four. I could do without that shit.

Motherfucking bug-ass virus. Why, if I wasn't sick, I'd kick yo ass back to whatever fucked-up science lab of a human emitted you. Fuckety-fuck fuck.

Snicker. My rage is just so hilarious because I'm the one inside this body who knows, without a fucking doubt, that there is zero energy in my stores. I ain't goin' after nuffin' or noone for a spell yet. It's gonna be a wait.

So, it's 6:51. I'm going to bed. Possibly to sleep all night. I'm hoping I wake up for an hour or so, but that's about it. Fuckety-fuck fuck. Mmf. I don't want to miss the best part of fall, you know? This better be a couple days at best, man.

Sleep. Sleep, perchance to recoup. Vive la Steff?