Monday, September 26, 2005

Either This House of Cards Is Coming Down, or Somewhere There Is a Dead Bee With No Stinger

Yesterday, I found a small, bruised welt on my arm. I've got no idea where it came from. It looks suspiciously like something a syringe filled with top-secret military-industrial-complex bio-chemicals might leave. Basically, what I'm trying to tell you is that the government is trying to suppress the secrets that I have buried in my subconscious, and all of my memories have been implanted. The life I lead is a farce, carefully constructed to lull me into non-threatening, secret-keeping complacency.

NICE TRY, GOVERNMENT. I'M COMING AFTER YOU, BECAUSE WHAT CAN YOU TAKE FROM A MAN WITH NOTHING LEFT TO LOSE? BESIDES HIS O.C. DVDs AND HIS 1994 TOYOTA COROLLA? NO, BESIDES HIS iBOOK? THAT'S RIGHT, NOTHING!

Either that or some bitch burned me with a fucking cigarette Saturday night.

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