I think I spelled that right. Anyway, blog, guess what today is? A Monday. Technically. It’s 12:36 as I’m typing this. In the morning. So… Monday. Which means it’s post time.

I’m not going to put back up the post I had up earlier. It’s not nice, number one, and number two, I can’t remember what I typed and I can’t recover it. Anyway, this weekend was interesting, the highlight being I got to go to a party and camp by the food table, thereby scoring shitloads of free food. Which is always good, nutrition and my health be damned.

“Chris, why you gotta be like that, huh? Why do you care so little about your body?” Because, dear friends, I don’t  want to go into the grave quietly looking like a hardly-used car. That’s like finishing a demolition derby without a single scratch. It’s just not right. I want to skid sideways into the grave as a smoking wreck of a man. The derby is short, so have as much fun with it as you can before your number is called. I don’t want to be like those nuts who drive around the outside of the ring, worrying about their paint job. I want to be in the fray, tearing shit up regardless of what it does to me.

You could respond two sensible ways to that: Either “Chris, you’re so shortsighted and idiotic”, to which I respond fuck you, or you could respond “I hadn’t thought about that, it’s actually a smart way to live”, to which I respond thanks. You thought I was going to say fuck you again, didn’t you? Well fuck you.



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