Gut Rumbles

January 11, 2009


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?

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