Or maybe that was food is for chumps. I can’t recall anymore. Late nights of staying awake punching in code until the letters and numbers and operands and function calls all look more and more like Axl Rose and Judy Garland’s bastard stepchild — that’s what’ll be the death of me. Fuck drinking my liver into an early and forced retirement, or being bludgeoned to death by elderly women with sharp sticks… I’m taking the nerd’s way out.
But at least I’m not stealing another person’s words and thoughts uncredited.*
There’s something clearly refreshing and ever-so-slightly moronic about staying up for more than 24 hours in a row at the age of 33. Even if it is ostensibly in the name of capitalism — yay, Almighty Dollar Bill Y’all!
Geez. Fred Durst. There’s a set of eye sockets waiting — begging, even — for a good crunchy fuck.
I’m now at the point in my consciousness that not even Warren Ellis’ depraved web challenges can hurt me. Instead, I’m am listening to the Flower Kings and preparing to go and scoop kitty poo from a tiny box, because the voices in my head demand it.
Bah, humbug. More caviar, Jeeves, and bring me the head of a Thai ladyboy while you’re in the kitchen.