is it just me or has everyone descended to the bottom level of their own personal hell where they've effectively stalled out, calling in sick and not answering the door, listening to sappy iTune mixes and pushing around soggy croutons in a pool of lo-cal caesar salad dressing while wondering what have i what have i what have i done to deserve this?

i can answer that one for ya--everything. and nothing. it's called being alive. a good chunk of it sucks but take it from me, as big as your death boner might be, when the Grim Reaper does finally point his horny finger in your direction you'll suddenly find yourself clinging with all your might to the tickertape shit stream of your consciousness. oh yes. it's an instinct that comes built-in, like Internet Explorer. it's the one that makes you put your hand in front of your face when you're about to hit the floor. unless of course you've been drinking gin for twelve hours straight. which explains a percentage of the tooth and nose disasters you see walking around in britain.

when things go south i like to sit back and count my reasons for living. lucky for me i have a hand with only three fingers. the list often goes like this:

1. pussy
2. pussy
3. pussy

you think i'm kidding, but it's true--sometimes all i need to get by is a girlie. hey man, if i had a fourth and fifth finger then fresh woollen mittens and new baby kittens would have made it on there for sure. or whatever the hell that dyke was singing about while she spun around the hills of schwarzenegger's motherland. whos name, btw, means black nigger in german.

sixth finger

seventh