Shouldn't be too much of a zonker today. Not that I've never been off my nipples in front of my family before. The rank of bong residue must have given them a contact high on a few occasions. Figure a single day inspection from the family headquarters, should be free of freak amplitudes. Baby sis is charging into Gotham today. Hurricane Isabitch has already caused some air traffic rerouting delay clogs. Sis and hubby "deplaned" once already.

Completely averse from hanging off of Mr. Carlin's nuts here, but I've never had to detrain, decar, or deboat. Heavy stones dangle from these airline skinbags. Expecting us to accept a term like "deplaning".

Seen a couple stewardesses in my time that I'd like to deplane in their mouth.

Massive renovation project been simmering in the grey matter. As curator of the sublet chick museum, I've thought of drastically re-arranging the exhibit. Cleaning motivation struck. Began the initial stages of making this dump less full of Miss Piggy's flotsam and jetsam. The carbon packrat inventory atrophying, leeching out her cranium. At least I hope so. Will be an unfun day explaining how some of her cherished garbage is living in a dump somewhere now.

Some shit just broke. Objects in close proximity to active beasts like me and mine will eventually damage the shit right up. Shit gets broke yo. Broke shit goes in trash can.

Nice. The trash theme reminds me of a current wont. I'd like my street soldier name to be Junk. Spanky Junks. Snickering mark, body jiggling in his office chair, curtly learns that the name Junk is to be respected after taking a smack up. Pay up bitch, Junk has come to collect. Junk ain't nobody to flex with.

Midseptemper. That's how I feel. Midseptemper. Demon labels can try and affix themselves to me. I don't hold mid September with an abundance of reverance. Prophesying politico seepings can fuck off. Network news rememberances can lick the sack. "I don't think we should ever forget what happened here on this day...." You know what? Fuck you deep and rude. Shitstorm day is encoded into my double helix. I don't need prompting to spark feelings. I'm still in coping stage. Most of sweet sweet NYC still is. We don't let it stop us or show demonstratively in our cheeks, cause we rock. All you professional opportunists and drooling voyuers need to take your teeth out the marrow.

Wait for your own scars. They will come.