weak.

I hate being sick, man.
The pressure in my brain, all the snot and shit I'm shooting everywhere. Fuck.
You know how your temperature goes up and down all the time when you're sick? That too, that sucks as well.
I can't smoke cigs, barely cheif, and I've got no food.
I need to get some food.

Fuck trying to sleep in the heat.

The most unbearable part about this is the fact that summer ends soon...in three days.
But right now is the hottest it's been in my room since we moved into this house.
It's honestly a good ten degrees hotter in here than the rest of the house...fucking weak.

Let's start a list of things less painful than trying to sleep in a hot ass room:

• Shoving a glass thermometer in my pee-hole and smashing it with a small, thermometer-sized hammer.
• Losing a tongue.
• Get hit by a car.
• Be internally decomposed by maggots.
• Be burned alive.
• Be buried alive.
• Be a victim of the Black Dahlia Murders. Yes, that means my wounds would be violently and involuntarily fornicated.
  

I think we get the picture here....fact of the matter is, and this is the big one, sweat sucks ass. I wasn't planning on showering and now I have to. FUCK.

Work early...

I'm a bitchin' machine.
I hate going to work early....more on that later.

Shit man, Thursday.

Willie Graves of The Plot To Blow Up The Eiffel Tower died a few days ago.
Read here.

Sad shit if you ask me, One Good Stab Deserves Another goes out to you and your fine bass playing, sir.

Joe Champion made me go back to this blog, maybe I'll keep it up now.

Oh, making Nostalgia Station in my basement tonight over a few Shiners and bowls, I'll let you know the outcome.