So, I can't possibly imagine having a stranger weekend. That's not true. I wound up leaving my friend 370 miles away from home, and I'm not sure he'll make it back. Am I a bad person? Don't answer yet.

A stranger weekend indeed. But stranger how, not quite a double entendra, now is it. Almost. Strange. I have this thing for pretending to talk like raul duke. There is something so american about it. Not George W. american. Jack Kerouac american. Allen Ginsberg american. But you know who really pisses me off... most of the people on Def Poetry. I love poetry, majored in it, write it and read it. But these dumb fucks, ooooooo, I'm gonna tear each of their limbs off with powerless words. BUT, the way I say it will sound so cool that it will infect them and make them all illiterate lepers.

People are so ignorant (another word in which the actual definition differs from the perceived). So, what now. I have fiendster, blogger, and a headache. My hands hurt so much each day I can't grab the steering wheel on the ride home.

Am I supposed to write down some anecdote that makes everyone laugh, or be introspectively pensive. Fuck you. I'm angry, and I'm just kidding. I'm not angry, I'm serious. Sometimes too serious.

Where am I going with all of this?