Allright, I'm drunk. What's your fucking excuse? I just finished off a bottle of Jaegermeister (with Red Bulls, making the ubiquitous JaegerBombs that all you nonexistant fuckers love) and now I'm working on some beer before I watch Masked and Anonymous again and propably hit the bottle of rum I have upstairs. I just moved outside so I can smoke while I write.
Here's the thing. Why should I bother writing this when I know no one is reading? That's the question I've been wrestling with ever since I started on Wednsday. And I think I know the answer. It is masturbation. I'm writing just to fucking write. Just so that all this shit swirling around in my diseased head will be written down. And someday baby maybe someone will actually read this, although I doubt it, and maybe that will lead to something, but I doubt it. If no one reads it, then by defintion no one important is reading it. Actually I'm going to lie down now
Allright. I'm slightly more sober while still being slightly drunk. And yes, I'm drinking rum and watching the greatest movie I love drinking to, Masked and Anonymous, written by God and Larry Charles, with the parts of both Jack Fate and God being played by Robert Allen Zimmerman himself. Kneel before him mythical bitches.
The question has still not been resolved. Why I am bothering? I'll never get anything from this shit. My final analysis is that I'm doing this out of my anxious arrogant nature and bordeom.
All of you (which is to say no one) need to go out and buy every album Dylan ever made (even the bad ones, hell, especially the bad ones) and Masked and Anonymous. Your immortal soul could hinge upon it.
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