My phone rang on Monday morning.

"Steve? Sir, this is your bank. You're overdrawn by $85.75. We'll charge you $5 a day until this is resolved unless you deposit the balance by 2pm today."

"Wait, what? I have a debit card. I didn't bounce any checks. How could this happen?"

"You debited at Little Ceasar's, E&L Discount Liquor, and Grand Amoco when your account was empty."

"I have a debit card, not credit! Last time I tried that, I got 'Insufficient Funds!' What gives?"

"I can't answer that sir. You're overdrawn by $10.75 and there's $75 in fees. Three fees of $25 each."

"You guys have been great to me until now. I'll stop in and raise hell next week, when I get paid. Brace yourself."

Well fuck me. After gaping wide my asshole for a payday advance scam so I could pay a car repair and my rent simultaneously, I knew Christmas shopping was going to be a cruel humiliating outing. It was going to be worse facing my family with weak offerings and sad excuses. They really don't care if I buy them anything or not, but I care.

And now my bank yanks yet another wad of cash. I've also been borrowing money to buy gas to get to work. I'm falling down a hole. This is depressing. I am offficially feeling sorry for myself. Fuck your problems. I don't want to hear about those less fortunate than I, and how lucky I am. Mention that and I'll eviscerate you. Stand clear. Final warning.

My phone rang this morning.

"Steve? Sir, this is the Police Department. We've put a boot on your car due to nonpayment of $1300 in outstanding parking tickets. If you pay half and work out a payment plan for the remainder, we'll remove the boot."

"I... Uh... Surely we can work something out. I'm flat broke. I just got that car fixed. If I can't go to work, I can't get paid, and therefore can't pay you. I can see that you've got to try and collect from me, but there's gotta be some other way. Rendering me unable to earn money will leave me homeless quickly. That's pretty harsh for ignoring your tickets for neglecting to buy a village sticker. Right?"

"Hold on, sir... Okay. Call the municipal building. Here's the number."

I did. I got the Comptroller on the phone. Why the title 'comptroller?' Parsing that out, it sounds like computer + troller. Somebody who trolls on computers. Like a pedophile. Fuck the comptrollers, I say. Let's beat their skulls in with canned soups.

This one was kind. Frank. Of course his name was Frank. What else? I offered him $200 a month starting on January 4th. He had that boot off my car within an hour.

Still, my cash flow is fucked, and it's not going to improve anytime soon. I have three choices:

Quit eating, suicide, or join the army. Food, suicide, army. Army, suicide, food. Fuck fuck fuck. I hate you all. 2:58 PM - Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm