moving sucks balls of rancid, greasy shit.

As you may or may no know, and may or may not care, I have been embroiled in the hell spawned activity known as moving. During this firewalk, the cat has scratched me true and deep, the dog got so excited over the move that she pissed everywhere for two frightful days.... and the weed was poor, my freinds, poor.... moving without weed would be impossible, of course... but still, the stank was so bad that my dealer actually just gave me stuff, because he could not bear to ask for money (this was not the crotch breathed spike, of course, but a new guy who has taken over my supply until Spike serves his four months for beating the shit out of doctor phil). Not that I mean to complain... I did have the luxury of movers, though still someone I threw my back out so bad that I couldn't get out of bed for a couple days (my convelescence had nothing to do with my finding a big stack of old porno books in the alley, though no one who knows me at all seems to believe me).

Yes, I have traveled through dark reaches to get to this keyboard, here over looking lake shore drive, listening to the rain and feeling a nice breeze coming off the lake... and yes, I do have a lake view, though it does require kind of leaning out of the window pretty far (too far to be safe without a viewing rope, which for some strange reason M. will not let me permanently affixed to a stake in that wall). I guess I am not technically supposed to bring this up after someone fell... not that I had anything to do with it. I hardly even knew the guy.

So, back on line... and trying not to grumble too much without at least pretending there is some national issue filling me with passions, and not just the usual niggling nothingnesses of a normal lost knight.






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