If We Were All Lyrical Genii We'd All Be Dead By Now

I watched Richard Rodriguez give two talks today. 

I want to kill living beings because of it. 

The injustice of my existence begs annihilation. 

Goddammit, Team Sleep! You're shit isn't helping!

Story starts.

I AM THAT I AM, Or Something Like That

Don't know why this woman stays with an ugly sumbitch like myself.

We went camping. It's Fourth of July weekend. There were reserved campsites, beautiful-ish weather, friends and bourbon. All kinds of things that make you forget you're a hyper-evolved chimp who is (most times) unsatisfied with his pittance of existence. Plus, there was some jackass redneck who was most likely high on methamphetamines and spoiling for a fight who accosted us at a playground. Good times!

Crazy, Early Cuyler type beings aside, it was fucking awesome. There was a river, mosquitoes, fire, children, meat on a stick, beans from a can, and all 'round good shit that suggests an afterlife filled with horrible pleasures or damnation. Your pick. 

And so I came home and had a fire and conversed with the Almighty. I think he appreciates my comics of Him, but He was real pissed on account of I haven't communed with Him lately. You can't ever make that guy happy, though.

Mournful-ass Ululations of a Million Idiot Savants

The title doesn't have a goddamn thing to do with anything. The train wreck story that no one gets (I know this because Felicia dutifully reads this shit and is stupefied by it and tells me so) is an embryonic turd here. So, yeah, there it is. Also, I'm in the process of retooling the other website so as to be more user friendly and less annoying to try to navigate through. Now, I've got to go get some shit for the yard sale tomorrow. More Pabst induced blogging of the process and the previous camping trip may follow. Stay tuned, motherfuckers!