So we were in some fucking strange ass town on the ocean somewhere, a whole bunch of friends, I have no clue who they were. Faceless friends, hmmm, that�s kind of funny now that I think back to it. We walked through covered bridges, and up dirt roads lined with colorless cottages and oak trees as old as Bob Hope (is he dead yet?). At one point, one of my cohorts attacked a visibly stunned James Garner. They ended up knocking James Garner over in this covered bridge, and he was down for the count. I eventually ended up in one of the cottages somehow, with a midget. The midget was short, and had long hair and glasses. He was trying to tickle me for some reason. I kicked him, and then realized I was kicking in my sleep, so it did no good. The air at 6AM this morning was amazing, it looked like it would be a good day for a long drive, and a head full of flattery.

The little faggots with spiked belts surround me, so I put my handgun to Johnny Cash�s head and tell them if they take a step closer, I will blow his fucking brains right back to Jackson.

Aside from the glass of wine now and then now, and the shots of whiskey I took at the studio last week, I have given up on drinking again. Well, going out and getting drinks. I find this so unfulfilling, that I would pay money to not do this on a weekend night. It�s so tired to me at this point, that I could vomit at the thought of it. Stupid fucking conversations about music that I don�t care two shits about, or how this one is more fucking depressed than that one. Give me a fucking break, please. You see the whores walking around the bars with white baseball hats and bad goatees, and tight fitting shirts that show off their goods, and conversations about cars and sports. How much more fucking pathetic could my life be? I can�t keep a straight face once the shit starts pouring out of mouths. I tend to laugh, but often feel like crying. The last time I think I cried I was about 7 years old. I�m no faggot, you see. Heh.

Kenny Loggins, naked, on ecstasy in a hotel room in Burlington Vermont, trying to coax a 23 year old girl to let him fuck her in the ass. That black lady from channel 7 news in Boston, ummmm Liz Walker or some shit like that. She looked like this girl I fucked. Or her brother rather. They were white. Wait, I never fucked that girl. This girl I knew once. Her brother looked like Liz Walker, the black lady from the news. I did want to fuck Liz Walker once. She busts into the room, and then I arrive. I arrive with a group of friends, and a well beaten James Garner on crutches.

It was sixth grade, and Colleens mouth tasted like cigarettes and orange soda. She turned out to be so fucking obnoxious in high school.

It�s 2:36 AM right now, and if that dog came in right now, and told me I needed to go out and shoot someone in the face for him. I would go out and shoot the person in the face. Because I bet every single person that I know has lied to me at least 4 times in the past week. If this isn�t true, I will eat a plate of rotten cabbage. At the very least, at least people are honest with themselves. They just lie and tell stories to others until an easier method comes along.

Once I took enough PCP last night I

Somebody please tell me how to kill these people

Holy mother of fuck

this is not me, ever. Tell them man�.

please don�t let me be ewith tieh weakling

and this is what you FUCKGING GET WHEN you pay the money you pay to line the pockets of those republican motherfuckers

I think I have dinner next week with a famous movie star. If this goes down, I will sign contracts, and hopefully, by next weekend, my car will be paid off, and I may have to have children some day soon.

before & after