When I’m drunk, I mistake myself to be a precise perfectionist. When I reread what was posted during my drunken state, I hang my head in embarrassment, and feel cheated when my taxes are squandered on myths like education reform.
“Just hurry the fuck up. I’ll be ready in 4 minutes.” demanded Katherine, my lanky, buxom-less, beloved, platonic roommate. Her eyes hadn’t wavered in my direction: they were only ever locked to the screen of her laptop fixed on her lap, not unusually.
“Okay. I’m gonna hop in the shower.” I responded. Katherine sounded a grunt in acknowledgment and admission. Even she knew her face would still be basking in the glow of the laptop after my shower.
The heirs to the Age of Aquarius are all tanning to the waning shine of the screen, ‘hello to you too‘. I thought as I let the gradually warming water run from the shower head. I played a game on my cellphone while waiting. I was catapulting disgruntled fowls into the homes of discolored swine, pooping piously.
Last night, my horoscope advised me to seek out someone helpful in keeping…
View original post 1,265 more words