small brush shouldn't fuck with big timber

Death's Door, the view from the Spanish announcers table: fuck me running

Tuesday, September 4

fuck me running

I feel like I haven’t slept in days. Without the courtesy of a reach-around or hug, stress is fucking me something fierce.
“Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout;
But there is no joy in Mudville—mighty Casey has struck out”

"and the monkey flipped the switch"


Blogger B. said...

I heard that when you just keep thinking when you're trying to fucking sleep. I have a thyroid problem, ulcer and am a workaholic...and I hate my job.


9:06 PM  
Blogger B. said...

Let's hit up the fucking Record Bar dude. Or I always hit 75th Street Brewery every Weds. for 75 cent beers. Either way it goes...I need to get fucking sauced.

9:08 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Been there, I HATE that shit.
Hope you got it leveled out man.

Oh, and that's one pissed off looking tribble you got there...

10:48 AM  

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