I spent all day trying to think of something to say that might not induce suicide in the reader. I used to be a fun guy. I used to sing karaoke. Now, I see poison, and walking corpses everywhere.
One of my old in-stores from Papa John's in Allen, Eric, killed himself last week. Hung himself in his mom's garage. I don't feel bad about it, really. Everybody dies. Pretty mean thing to do to his mom, though.
On the lighter side of things, I rode my bike through a waist-high field of indian paintbrushes yesterday, completely free from fear of bee-stings. I haven't seen a bee yet, this year. There. That's pretty fucking cheerful.
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3 comments:
Don't bother with "Sorry about your friend." I have no pity for him.
Uhhhh...
Smart-ass.
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