Really, I'm wearing it, I am, it's just invisible.
Throwing icecubes at a stop sign while trippin on lsd.
Today was for the stupid people. Tomorrow is for the ignorant.
Kill them. Kill them all.
The tumble weed incident would haunt him for many years to come.
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I step out of Samie's beat-up old car onto the packed mud and snow. She drives away to parts unknown, and I trudge the remaining hundred yards, entering through the back door of the admin building. Why the f$~* does the station have to be on the fourth floor? My laptop case in hand, I begin the tedious trek up the four flights of stairs. I don't know why I bring my laptop to work. I never use it. I just need something in my hand. Damn, my head hurts. I round the second-floor landing. Arielle walks past on the way to the copier. I see her. She doesn't see me. I keep walking. The fourth floor seems more stark than usual. John walks past, in his usual self-absorbed manner. We don't talk about him. I enter the second door on the right. It appears that Mike the intern left it unlocked yesterday. Mike's a good kid, a little bit flighty, but a good kid nonetheless. I'm the first one in to work. The f%**ing lights are on. I can hear the converter whirring as I remove the batteries from their chargers. I sit down at my desk, at the rear of the second of the two squalid rooms comprising my workplace. I flip the switch. Great. Smitty's here. F#@@ him. F@+!, my head hurts. Smitty's not helping things, either.
"What the f&#* are you doing, douchebag?" he squeaks. You'd never think that a guy that big could have so high-pitched a voice.
"I'm working. I'll kick your ass if you don't shut up, Smitty."
"Ha! Good one, douchebag!"
What an idiot. Smitty walks out the door to get something out of his car. God, how can a guy that moronic get his driver's license? My headache's getting worse. I turn off the converter, eject the disc. I walk back to my desktop and log on. Heath and Ben burst through the door. Ben's carrying a beer. It's eight thirty in the morning. Why?
Heath drops his lunchbox on his desk. "What's going on?" he asks. Without waiting for a reply, he leaves. Ben continues drinking his beer. My headache continues to get worse. It feels like a knife digging into my forehead. My face drops to the surface of my desk.
I raise my head. I'm sitting on my couch. Miranda looks at me. I look back. She runs her fingers through my hair.
"Rough day at work?" she inquires.
"Yeah..."
She draws me closer. A stabbing pain explodes through my head. I'm at my desk. Ben's standing behind me, clutching an empty beer bottle. What the f!&@?
"Hey, dude," he mumbles, "Heath's gonna be back soon. You were, like, totally passed out."
Un-f@*%ing-believable.
"What the HELL, Ben? Heath lets me take naps!"
"Well, I thought you were dead."
"Are you stoned?"
"Nah, bra. I haven't touched the stuff in weeks."
There's no comeback to that. Heath walks in the door. He shakes his head. My eyes are popping out of my skull like ping-pong balls. F!**, that hurts. I lower my head to the cool surface of my desk once more. Sleep.
The door slams.
Typical.
S@%~, beard's on fire!
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The we headed and walked over Tower Bridge, which was also pretty cool, and then walked along the river to London Bridge that was not...
It was a rort, the bridge over Cabramatta Creek at home is more impressive... no wonder the locals burnt it down, they should have left it burnt!!
There was a London Bridge souvenir shop nearby, but this was closed, we assume forever as who would ever want to commemorate their visit there?? Not I!
Time marches on.
"Wait, so the Cup of Christ is a petrified twinkie?"
a twinkie can be petrified; that means that the airspeed velocity of an unladen African Swallow is directy proportional to the sag in clotheslines worldwide which, or course, explains why womens chest areas begin to sag when they wear sweaters in the winter; hmm
TAKE YOUR LAPTOP OFF, BABY!