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Tolerance

I'm all confused. Is yahoogroups.com the rebellious, funky, disorganized artistic one with more common sense than first appears while onelist.com is the snotty, anal-retentive, uptight one who is doing well but is too stressed to enjoy it, or vice versa? Do you ever get in cage matches?

I'm feeling pleasantly funky. As such, I'm at work. Yay work! Opiate of the masses! No, wait, television. Work is the soulsucker of the masses. Must keep them straight. Of course, I spend my workday staring at a shiney screen while I try vainly to accomplish tasks of little redeeming social importance in the scale of things, so there's no reason why I can't be opiated and soulsucked simultaneously. Still and all, I'd rather have porn.

I'm sorry. "pr0n". Does this misspleeing in some way make it new and hip? Is this you youngsters again? Why have you been romping around in my yard all this time? I stuck fire ants out there specifically to thwart you, and yet you keep returning! What will finally drive you off? When will I have peace? WHEN WILL MY HORRIFIC CURSE END? Not the kids in the backyard, I actually meant the gypsy curse, but thanks for the offer. You wouldn't happen to have any lion's blood on you? I find it tends to stay the cravings briefly, and my supply is running low.

I have nothing to say, and lots of room to say it. The usual. The unusual, considering my status for the past n time, where n is far too long for me and far too short for you. I know, I know, you all just ignore me and go about your business. I've said this so often that it, too, is completely ignorable. Even my commenting on my commenting on your lack of enthusiasm about my deathless prose begins to become cliche, so I'll just raise my thumb to my nose and wiggle my fingers at you all in a taunting fashion and go on about my day normally. So there. Guess I showed you!

I'm trying (and failing) to get up the impetus to do more writing. Even this email is written under the influence of not-bloody-wanting-to-get- back-to-work-on-the-project-I-should-actually-be-working-on-itis, something which will continue into the foreseeable future, but which tends to dull quickly, so expect a few more brief, halfhearted emails until my inevitable grisly demise and not too much more than that. Didn't I mention? I'm planning on gruesomely getting slaughtered by a homicidal psychopath in the next few weeks, exact timeframe uncertain. Still narrowing down whether I'm planning on being in a shack in the middle of the woods or a basement in the middle of the city at the time. I've already selected the h.p. in question, and I've been dropping hints around him like "wow, my flesh is tender and succulent this morning - just like every morning!" and "even though I am not female, I'm wussy and feminine enough that someone with issues with all females could work some of them off by killing me in a hideous fashion!" and "gee, I bet you have a small penis - not that you could get it up anyway, you worthless quivering hunk of pseudo-manhood." I think one of them will do the trick. I only hope he holds off long enough for me to see Hitchhikers Guide before I go. Did I work him up too much too soon?

A couple of kids are visible through the window. I bet their brains would taste delicious. No, wait, an older man approaches. He's all stubbly. If the kids are related to him, it isn't worth it. I hate stubbly.

Onward, to death! Or glory, but mostly the death.