Feebage

I would have written last night, but events, perhaps compelled by
jupiter making passes at saturn or something, conspired to keep me
working overtime. I'm convinced that all requests for someone to work
overtime should come during acts of fellatio. For some reason, I would
prefer that this particular transaction be pronounced in the old english
vernacular. I imagine it would sound something like this:

"Forsooth. Wouldst thou work late for us?"
"Verily. Hath thou sent thine blow wench"
"Avast. She nears"
"I shall then proceed to drop trou"

Unfortunetly, there was no blow wench. The request for overtime was
given by a tall, scraggly romanian who smelled as if he had rolled
around in an ash tray from an AA meeting.

Feebage proceeds normally. I have sinced learned that wednesdays are for
tv luvin'. 7pm begins my passion. 8 finds me rubbing up against the
curved screen. At 9, I'm frantically looking for a way to connect to the
tv, in that way. 10 rolls me onto the carpet, hunched in the fetal
position with bubbles of spit running down my chin. The tv wanders off
to smoke a cigarette with the very late blow wench. A curtain descends.
Cue melodic music, a cough, and a vestige of any pride I might had
before I graduated university. Fin.

On the up side ill be back on two wheels soon. I'm excited. T is
excited. The only thing I don't anticipate is the constant droning and
whining of the parental units. I wish I had my own place so that I
wouldn't have to hear them complain about it, but that's just how the
philly rolls.

They're armed and brazen, the tv says. Well, I'm armed too. Hell, I'm
even legged. I'm so not impressed.

~ For we walk by faith, not by sight ~