So super huge, jungle-sized blow your nipples off thank you!
What can I say, the sarcasm crusted creature I keep in my rib cage wants to make some flippant comment about the power of pestering, and how thankful you’ll all be to not see my video lurk all over your timeline ever again*, but… I’m feeling. How do I describe it… it tastes like vodka and mucky laughs. Smells like glitter. Feels like a groin slam on Piers Morgan. Ah happiness, I feel happiness. Wow this feels like it’ll last forever, suck my beeping beep mother-beeping life!
And it’s all because of you guys, my supporters; or maybe I left the gas on and I’m slowly succumbing to gas poisoning. Either way I’m overcome with a warm feeling, a crawling vomit. I’m positive I turned the gas off.
Yay, my book is going to be published, can I hear a whoop whoop? Arms in the air, when I say Sour…you say Fruit… Sour…
I promise my novel won’t be as interactive; I know we read to get away from communal participation, or making eye contact, or to stop our brains punching through our eye sockets at the mundane abyss.Well that warm feeling dissipated quicker than I thought, but like the great Dr Suess said;
Don’t cry because it’s over, pull a knife so it won’t even think about fucking ending. You know where it lives, you know where its kids go to school. It’s going to end when you say so,” or something like that. I’m paraphrasing.
So before I completely nuke the moment, what I’m trying to say is, the spewing black hole where my heart would be is still there, still festering, but now its production is down a good 15%. My wedding got a high 18% and the birth of my daughter got a solid 20%, so that shows you how fucking made up I am. I really am.
I’m just going to go check the gas.
*All rights to lurk reserved.
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