Chapter Eight
This past weekend I drank about 60% of my body weight in Wild Turkey. I do not regret it. While wondering whether or not I should get my stomach pumped, I came to a realization: I have nothing fucking better to do with my life, here.
This must change. Why is a job in journalism so fucking boring these days? Where are the political campaigns, the fucking weird cocksuckers I would get stuck in a limousine with talking about nothing but football for hours on end? Is this really the American dream? I think not. I might have to search for it, again.
There's nothing to fucking write about. Which is a shame, considering a lot's been happening this past week. Too much, almost. I can't take it. I'm only one man, after all. I can't be everywhere. That reminds me... I need to look into how much it would cost to clone myself. I think it might come in handy. I can be fucked up out of my mind, be completely incoherent, and then translate my every word into normal, audible language at the same time. If I die mysteriously... I, myself, can hide the body.
If you're interested, you can get back to me on that one.
While I'm on the subject of all things fuck-awful, I'd like to schedule an interview with someone of the police force or prison security. I'm just wondering why you blow such a fucking big one at your job.
This must change. Why is a job in journalism so fucking boring these days? Where are the political campaigns, the fucking weird cocksuckers I would get stuck in a limousine with talking about nothing but football for hours on end? Is this really the American dream? I think not. I might have to search for it, again.
There's nothing to fucking write about. Which is a shame, considering a lot's been happening this past week. Too much, almost. I can't take it. I'm only one man, after all. I can't be everywhere. That reminds me... I need to look into how much it would cost to clone myself. I think it might come in handy. I can be fucked up out of my mind, be completely incoherent, and then translate my every word into normal, audible language at the same time. If I die mysteriously... I, myself, can hide the body.
If you're interested, you can get back to me on that one.
While I'm on the subject of all things fuck-awful, I'd like to schedule an interview with someone of the police force or prison security. I'm just wondering why you blow such a fucking big one at your job.