A friend asked me why I'm not "a teacher, or something." Because I'd be fucking students, that's why. I'd be the aloof mugshot on the news. I'd probably tender my resignation, move to the Pacific Northwest to write, and neglect to register as a sex offender. I hate paperwork and police officers.
I made a gourmet meal yesterday.
Grilled cheese with three different kinds of cheese. Rice and potatoes, seasoned to taste. "Seasoned to taste," in the language of Ben Kenny, means a few drops of green Tabasco or Rooster sauce.
Overtime today. 11 glorious hours. I plan to use the money to perpetuate stereotypes, or maybe get some ink. I've got a mad hankering for some ink. Maybe a Viking working a turntable, or perhaps a Republican T-Rex.
Morrissey is in town. Not sure where. Look for a lot of Outbacks covered in "conscious" bumper stickers. A lot of post-graduate education types who couldn't lead a line of kindergardeners. Love The Smiths, hate Morrissey.
Like this song, and love this band.
If I had the chance to go hang gliding, I would not go.
Need to shave more often now. Not my back either. My face. I wonder why. Change in diet?
If it's included, there's a fee.-BK
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