Saturday, June 22, 2002
I need a sphere on my back |1:31 AM|
There is a crude cube scrawled on the back of my hand, hiding a number I had written there earlier. I'll probably have to apologize later for writing that number, but the guy who'd be offended doesn't read this damn thing so he can go to hell for the time being. I wrote the number because my own female seeking habits were called into question after minority report, which I'll bother reviewing for TPL since it looks like we're getting an upswing in viewers and updates.
The reason I was called into question was a female waitress named Korean who works at the
Alamo. It has been stated that she has a boyfriend, by her, but in a manner indicating it was some kind of disease. When I walked in today to pick up the tickets, she recognized me, said hello, remembered me from my previous visits. She and I talked for a while about Donnie Darko and the like. The pen broke, drat. I had to stand in line, so I had to kill the conversation.
Oh, I'm still pushing myself as hard as I can, disease wise. I've still got these coughing fits. I coughed all over the area where I thought I would be sitting. Since I didn't have tickets to hold the area, I got kicked out and these complaining type jerks stole the seats. I hope they catch what I have and DIE. I can't stand people who call the cops in at the slightest noise, or call down the wrath of God for their pettiest of issues. Fuckin' talk to people. Christ.
What the hell was I talking about? Oh yeah, the cold. I coughed all over my screen, and I thought "I should record one of these damn fits" so I did. Unfortunately, I only got the trailing end of it recorded.
Here is me coughing It's pure sex, isn't it?
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//That should close up the previous year.
///Say this is the swap from 2001 to 2002, that should close up the 2001 links.
///Problem is, we also need to close up the final month links too.
/// echo '