Man, holy balls, y’all.
It is just some sort of ripe with wackadoo out here. I will tell you this, I had to cut the damned news off and turn the techno on because fuuuuuuuck. What is happening out here?
Madness and damned chaos. Fuckery and shenanigans. This, that, and the fucking third.
So much so, I am on sensory overload. I wanted to come and bitch about some things, but by the looks of it, everyone else has beat me to the fucking job today.
Like, should I be watching for hordes of locusts or what the fuck? Someone get my momma on the phone, I forget the other signs but I know she knows the drill.
“Momma, can you write those down somewhere? Like, somewhere I’m not going to throw them away though, so like the inside of a book or something.
Oh, they’re already written on the inside of a book? I’m not flipping all the way through the bible for them. That’s jus- nevermind. I’ll Google it.”
Anyway, y’all.
So much for watching out for the second coming. I will say that I’ve not been more thrilled about my choice to become an utter recluse since, well, since the very last time I sat here and we all thought it was the end of the world. So, roughly 3 years ago.
I mean. Whoa. We just cannot get our shit together around here. I really don’t think you could pay me enough to trudge around outside and act like a functional member of society. Matter of fact, I know you can’t because I’m sitting right here at this Cadillac of a laptop telling you exactly that.
I may be done with people entirely before the year is out. Depends on how the holidays go. If it’s all Baby Jesus in a Manger, meh, I might still pretend like I’m socialized. Enough to go to Publix, anyway.
Never enough to go to Wal Mart. That’s delivery or nothing.
But if it doesn’t relax out there soon, I’m just going to join my prepper friends over at Conspiracy Commons and start stocking up on pinto beans and sardines, because fuck being stuck on I4 during the zombie apocalypse. I mean, at the Kissimmee exits you’re not getting over 8 mph and I know factually that’s not faster than a zombie.
I’ll sit that action out, thanks.
Anyway, I bring you techno. It will make you feel better, I promise. Just cut the news off and put your head in the sand. Same thing I’m doing.
But be sure to cover your ass. We don’t want to invite problems we really don’t need today, huh?
Q
I don't know wtf the world is doing -- is there something that *isn't on fire, anywhere, please, I'm listening -- but what I do know is that I can always count on you to have impeccable taste in music. ☆☆
Viggo and I are kicking it in a closet until things chill ( or my husband gets home). We greatly appreciate the techno