My back has been fucking killing me for the past week, and I don't know why. I think I over-schlepped.
Does anyone read these goddamn things I write anymore? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?
Edited to add: I just spent an hour in the hot tub trying to quiet my screaming back muscles. I spent most of the time wondering why I was all by my lonesome. I swear to God sometimes, I couldn't get any if I wore a suit made of hundred dollar bills and had a 12-inch chocolate cock.
Oh well.
Does anyone read these goddamn things I write anymore? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?
Edited to add: I just spent an hour in the hot tub trying to quiet my screaming back muscles. I spent most of the time wondering why I was all by my lonesome. I swear to God sometimes, I couldn't get any if I wore a suit made of hundred dollar bills and had a 12-inch chocolate cock.
Oh well.
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I saw a water tower with "Save Randy's Spine" painted on it just this morning.
*qeasey Krispy Kreme hangover*
[Edited on Jun 28, 2003]