Hoovervillain
It’s been a while, by bloggo. I blame David Eggers. I got as far as the Real World interview section of AHWOSG before the book imploded under the weight of its own irony - I tearfully declared myself a citizen of the 20th century and fell upon my upraised bayonet.
Fuck that guy. Now I can’t write about myself without feeling the chimera of narcissism gnawing at my back with her venomous fangs. Being in your mid-twenties is difficult y’all.
Also, not a lot has been going on. I’ve been drifting from one locale to another and keeping my damn trap shut. I ate mashed potatoes with some punk girls with matching Shell Silverstien tattoos. I ran into Marcy again, and embarrassed her by remembering her name. I burned a bushel of CDs for my technotarded friend Ben, who, If I wasn’t there would have found a way to set himself on fire with my roommate’s iBook.
I’ve been constrained because I’ve been broke, broke, broke and making sure everyone knows it. If it hadn’t been for complementary meals at the office Halloween Happy Hour (just too much fun!), White Sox Victory Celebration, Evangelical Church Carnival (not kidding), and Comedy Writing Workshop (Premise + Punch = Laughs-a-Million) I would be boiling my own shoe leather.
If you kept the right company, you could survive on free foodstuffs 4 life!
I got paid yesterday and treated myself to an evening snack of Boddington’s Pub Ale and Marmalade on Saltines. I’ve got ricketscurvey.
