Fuck shit fuck. I think that about sums it up. I got big rig tire treads on my face. Slack open. Urg.

I'd be hungover if I wasn't still drunk. Plus I'm at the front desk all day, greeting visitors and employees with red eyes, blue lips, and a hoarse crackle of a voice. My mouth is full of malted snot.

Fuck a duck and make it quack. Ole mole. Yowch. Somebody turn off the static. Stop the drums. Help.

Fuuuuuuuuuck.

Thud.
2:38 PM - Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm