January 11, 2009
WALLOWING IS MORE FUN WHEN YOUR BRAIN IS FRIED
Originally published January 28, 2004
Really. You guys ought to try this.
Next time any of you decide to throw a pity party, I'll give you the name of my caterer. I got da blue pills, da red pills, da smokie-smokie, da drinkie-drinkie, the list goes on.
Don't tell me how to live my life. I'm mellow, and I'm happy. Who gives a fuck if I've bathed or dressed today?
Okay, so intellect and proper grammar were once important to me. How anal was I?
Yeah, I like this guy better. If you want to feed me some sympathy, feel free. I eat that shit up, but truthfully, I'm quite pleased with myself.
This way I don't have to think about my past, which I can't seem to separate myself from. And I don't have to think about my future and the future of my son, for which I should be spending a considerable portion of my days planning.
Don't call me a fucking hypocrite. I can whine over the lost talent in Arlington Cemetary while pissing away my own.
What of it?
All content © Rob Smith