Great heaving sacks of boredom
Great heaving sacks of boredom have been upended onto my flipped-out head. Tiny mites of anxiety hop on my desk. I swat them; they are replaced by infinitesimal amoebas of terror, which is an improvement, but not by much, because if ingested they cause the amoebiasis of despair. I'll wash my hands often today, and think anti-microbial thoughts of the future.
What I need is to be assaulted by a crack-happy squirrel so I's can bust out wid my Glock and pop a cap in its rodential ass. That's what I need. That, and this coffee that I'm drinking here. That's all I need. And some SSRIs, but that's it. You betcha.
Steward! Bring me my Valium and a carton of Luckies. And be quick about it!
*click*
