They didn't find what they were looking for. On the plus side, this means I'm not allergic to beer, which is a good thing, because I fucking love beer. But it also means I'm going to have a plastic tube stuck up my ass at some point in the near future. This I'm less enthusiastic about. I guess I'll have to come prepared, and bring a couple of six packs.
Without going into detail about what could possibly be wrong with me (aside from the well-known fact that a have the psyche of an earthworm during a rainstorm), I'll just say that I'm at my wit's end, and just a tiny step away from consulting a giant Finnish witch-doctor with a mustache. I've bought a bag of animal bones from this "alternative shop" down the street, I've slaughtered an unlucky pigeon and poured it's blood over my erect penis (in preparation for the ritual of masturbating to a mental picture of Mother Earth), and for the next week I'm not going to eat anything that's dead. And as some of you may know, it's really hard to eat animals when they're still alive; they keep moving around.
July 07, 2007
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