Peeeugh!: I feel like I have been accosted by the least-appealing version of The Devil Himself, and that he has had his way with me via my belly button. His putrid, fiery, spunk-disease has collected around each of my joints, and threatens to fester there for days, at least.
I also have the flu. These things may or may not be related.
Further bulletins as events warrant.
Wheeee!: I taught some friends from work how to brew last night, and ended up making a spiced apple brown ale which has already undergone fermentation. Woke up this morning to the wonderful sound of "bloob, blup, bleep!" coming from the kitchen.
'Eeeeeeeey!: The flu is keeping me from forming any more coherent sentences, so there's this: You all are still the coolest gang of bastards on the internet, and I am proud to know all of you. Yeah, even you.
So she loved animals. So if you wanna donate something to take care of animals who can't take care of themselves, then do that. Don't send flowers. I appreciate your best wishes. Doing what I can, trying to be strong, like she taught me. SHE TAUGHT ME WELL. AMAZING woman. You all woulda loved her. (Believe me, she was of our tribe.) Haven't properly cried yet but when I do, it'll be worse than circa the last time she had to change my pants for me.
I drove my sister home from the hospital, across town. (On a scant 3 hours sleep and a slice of toast and a NUCLEAR EXPLOSION.) While we didn't do the Full-On Chuckles the Clown, there was much (?! Not THAT much) mordant laughter, black humour, etc. When we passed by Mount Pleasant Cemetery, my sister waved at all our relatives already there interred and implied to their long-dead souls that they'd soon have company. It broke the moment. I also made my dad laugh and may be well on the way to cutting my useless brother out of the will. His comment? (My brother's, natch.) "I am sorry for your loss." WHATTA CUNT. Didn't I say? DIDN'T I JUST SAY?
Anyway. Tough to lose a parent. IT KILLS YOU A BIT WHEN YOU LOSE YOUR MOTHER.
Patrick, I'm so sorry. Tough to lose a parent. I'm around this weekend. If you need anything, let me know. (Otherwise I'll pressure you for drinks in December.)
You don't even want to know how bad our jokes got after my dad died. Morbidity is the only way. Though bereavement sex was pretty good, too, if I recall... (tears = lube amiriteguise)
When my ex-girlfriend's dad died (THE WOMAN I SHOULD HAVE MARRIED AND DONE ALL THAT CRAZY CRAP WITH .... but DIDN'T), MAN, I was dancin' like Comedy Bojangles,takin' people's minds off SHIT. Felt GOOD, I got to do that for me own dad, if only for a few minutes, he laughed. LAUGHED. WITH ME, rather than AT me.
AND I SWEAR TO JESUS CHRIST ON THE CROSS, THE VERY NEXT PERSON WHO TRIES TO MAKE SOME KIND OF JOKE TO ME WILL DIE IN A WAY THAT WILL MAKE WARREN ELLIS' BALLS SHRIVEL UP IN ABSOLUTE FEAR. I AM SO NOT JOKING , YOU WOULD REPORT ME TO THE AUTHORITY IF YOU COULD SEE HOW ROCK-SERIOUS AND DIAMOND-COVEREDHARD I AM.
Si? LOOKIN' AT YOU, MATE. Warren woulda chimed in HOURS AGO, busy as he always was. Thirty cents on the dollar? I'M WORTH MUCH MORE THAN THAT. Ariana? You move on or what?
... I don't get some kind of gentle answer from the Management before I finally crawl into the fetal position and cry myself to sleep, then this place is dead to me. NOT THE PEOPLE, just the place.
Aawww I'm awful terrible at gallows humor, though I laugh my ass off at it...
Well...my night was awesome till I read this and I now I feel like shit for having a good time. But you know what Hex? I'm glad you're here. And so I'm glad of your mom being your mom. Because she Did It Right. With you at least. You'r bro...well there's one in every family, give or take.
Also I'm still tipsy from our post opening night bourbathon. nom.