So that's pretty much the last you'll ever hear from me, because when Sean says you're dead, you're motherfucking dead, and there's nothing you, me, or the totally tough DVD copy of Navy Seals someone bought me for my birthday can do about it. So fuck it. I'm dead. I just feel sorry for the person standing behind me when Sean's foot comes rocketing through the back of my head and sprays brain and skull shards everywhere like one of those catapults they use to fire frozen chicken carcasses at jet engines, which is awesome, and I've totally lost the point of this sentence somewhere.
Also, I'm 99.9% sure that one of the newest SuicideGirls dated a friend of mine rather intensely two or three years ago, and as hot as she is naked, I suddenly feel weird for looking. The world is too small for being sexy. That's why I'm glad to be forgettable and plain; I can show my cock to whoever (and I do!), and they can't even place me in a lineup. It's like being invisible, only not as cool.
How is everybody else doing?
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I forgot to mention, last time I saw you... if you got a strange text-message on your birthday that wasn't signed, something about Greetings from Hawaii, that wasn't from some random nut job. That was me realizing from very far away, that I would be missing it.
[Edited on May 04, 2004 1:36PM]