#mental xrays

War, terrorism, country music — the early stages of evolution are never pretty.

The fragility of life, the catastrophe of existence, the sense of nihilism evoked by the specter of death — my mind’s awash in thoughts like these whenever the dot-matrix display flashes GAME OVER and my game of pinball has reached its end.

It’s a toss up: Unmitigated Shit Storm from Start to Finish or Godawful Mess? For the life of me I can’t decide on a title for my memoirs.

Despairing, miserable, sickly & forlorn, thanks for asking.

Etiquette Tip: Decorum dictates that one must refrain from French-kissing the corpse at an open-casket funeral, no matter how goddamn sexy she is.

Mired in morbid depression, sinking ever deeper into darkness, utterly despairing, utterly forlorn, but otherwise quite well.

It was not long before ugly rumors were in circulation concerning the Corpse Dildo Incident. For the record, that cadaver had been viciously sodomized before I’d even arrived at that pancake breakfast fundraiser.

Friendship is: Whispering the lyrics to the Golden Girls theme song while forcing your bestie to hotwire the Wienermobile at gunpoint.