. . .

You are being used

and thrown away, like a wet paper bag. I am using you for cheap and fatfree entertainment. There is nothing you can do about it, because by the time you receive this, I will already have derived whatever sick jollies I can wring out of the sucker.

Sort of like Ernest Borgnine, when you think about it.

DAMN YOU! NOW I'VE GOT THE SPICE GIRLS RUNNING THROUGH MY HEAD! DAMN YOU!

I blame you for this. I don't know how. But you are to blame.

Loudness. New door. Much loudness.

Note to self: Poking self in gums with pointy metal thing is not a good idea. Causes gums to bleed. Don't.

You have to learn these things via experimentation. If you believe what other people tell you, what are you doing here?

Beginning of the New Month. No need to worry. Am dropping unimportant words. Must remember to stop doing this. Makes me sound uneducated. And white collar. And poor. And hungry. And lost and alone in an infinite voidness of being, a state which is so dark, not even light itself can escape.

I'm so goth.

After all, I'm wearing black, so I must be a goth, right?

Or is that not the primary requisite?

Note to self: Causes gums to bleed a lot. Very much don't. Unless you like the taste of your own blood, which certainly fits in to the goth mistique. Hmm.

My mind must be an interesting place to be. Remind me to visit some time.

MMMMMMmmmmmmmmmmm. Starcraft. MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMmmmmmmmmmm.

Roses are red, Violets are blue, Sugar is sweet, And seeing your enemies driven before you and hearing the lamentations of their women is too.

Spleen.

On rye bread.