Look at this, found on Jamie Zawinski's blog. It got me so paranoid and depressed that I printed out some Bertrand Russell to use as ammo should the need arise. Don't think it will -- the F's pretty secular.
My house smells just like a zoo
It's chock full of shit and puke
Cockroaches on the walls
Crabs crawlin' on my balls
Aw, but I'm so clean cut -- I just wanna fuck some slut!
Speaking of cockroaches, the roach problem here is bad tonight. I bought 4 new roach motels and put three of them in the kitchen, because those fuckers are getting bold. I saw a little one and a big waterbug in the cabinets wihin the span of like 15 minutes. Don't tell Mer. She'll find out when she reads this, anyway.
I went up to visit my old friend Asta last night -- yes, that's right, Sunday -- up in the 'Heights, round 187th or so. She was having a "hard liquor and boardgames" party, a premise dangerously close to hipsterism, but which turned out to be really sweet and nice. I saw a bunch of fairly acceptable people from high school, including, I'm pretty sure, a literal date-rapist, and got along pretty well with 'em all. The second best part, though, was coming home on the A. I was in the last car and it was empty and noisy -- perfect setting for a little singin' to one's self. And I sang all the way down to 145th, when this guy came into the car and wanted to sketch my portrait. "Not that you want or need a portrait," he said, "but I do the whole thing while the train is moving. I'm that good."
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