Been having a good time with the ex as well. Apparently too good of a time as she has hinted at the fact that I'd make good hubby material. Trying to brush me into that suburban oil painting is as futile as trying add droids and Jawas to the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. All her relatives have informed her that I am approved to move in that direction. Wonderful chick. She needs marriage and kids, and I need to cut my dick off before I get myself into that.

Hate to do more preficing and justification before making a statement, but here we go. I adore my sister. I don't believe in angels, but if I ever experience enough brain trauma where I become retarded and think I see angels, I'm sure they'll have her face. I carry a wallet sized photo of her from her wedding in my pocket everyday for fuck's sake. How gay is that? Anyhoo, I love the kid, she's one of the most decent people I know. But she put a fucking poofy cloth red white and blue collar on her dog. Can we stop adding old glory to every fucking thing? Patriotism is like a viral infection, it can be amusing at first, but unchecked it ravages everything in it's path like a smelly fetid gelatinous disease blob. Utilizing two similes in one sentence, impressive no?

Looking forward to getting back to the sin of things. Not looking forward to the jobby job that's waiting to sink it's hooks back into me. Hard to take the steady stream of idiots and assholes when I haven't had to deal with them for close to two weeks. A good portion of the crew I currently work with fall into my list of offenders that I often berate in this forum. A few I would smash in the head with a bottle if they were talking loudly in my local bar. I wonder if they can smell the loathing and animosity that sweats from my glands for them. They think I'm a decent fellow, and in a way they are correct. But what they don't factor in their coolness equation in regards to me, is that I'd sooner sell them on the white slave market than speak kindly of them in a social setting. And the worst part of the whole thing is that many of them are breeding, first time breeders actually. Last thing I want to hear is people I have penciled into the guilty column discussing how they have passed their genes and traits on to a new generation of quarter-witted livestock.

Job end soon, me feel good. Job drag on, me punch things. Pussy yummy. St.Louis stinky. Poo poo, ca ca, doo doo.