d'
 sometimes when i think about my horrible childhood i keep remembering my uncle, who lays around in his underwear doing nothing but watch the science fiction channel on television and eat chicken kiev. or the river bank that i would tear out of the house to. while my family came looking for me  (i was not allowed out of the house much as a child at all) i would furiously stuff pages i had colored into vodka bottles that had washed up on the bank and then throw them back out into the river. for those two minutes between escaping out of the house and getting whipped with a tree branch on the way back to the smoky house with cuckoo clocks and owl paintings, i was free.

iggy is getting ill again (i spoke too soon) and someone stole my bike right from in front of my house. this makes me furious... it was a huffy from 1992-- how much money could you really get out of it? is it worth one, maybe two hits of meth? assholes. i took black electrical tape and wrote "bring back our bike" on my garage really big. its hard to make those on drugs feel any sort of remorse, so i doubt it will be a brick through their windshield, alas, it made me feel better.

i wonder what mr. and mrs. fate are thinking.