Woof

You ever have that feeling where you want to peel all of your skin off, put on an ostentatious tiara, or maybe a plaid fedora for the gentlemen out there, and head off to the tracks for a little pony betting?  When you’re done losing all of your money you would likely take a running swan-dive off a cliff. 

Almost typed “off a clit.”  Okay, maybe you’d take care of that part before the sailing suicide…Could improve your mood. 

This week I’ve tried to self-medicate with both alcohol and sushi.  Neither one provided long-term satisfaction.  Both charge too much for their services.  Perhaps some sort of alcohol infused chocolate-covered sushi?  Could be my big plans for tonight.

That has been my week. 

It’s like an itch you can’t scratch.  If you could locate it, you wouldn’t scratch it anyway.  You’d slap the shit out of it.  I want to lock myself in a dark, quiet room for five hours with five tubes of toothpaste and brush my enamel right the fuck off and see if that helps my mood any.  I honestly think it would.  I get off a little on good oral hygiene.  Get a bag of those flossing sticks in my cell with me and ooooh boy.  Watch out gums, here I come.

It’s got to be hormones.  Funny how they either make you horny or want to go out and kill.  I suppose if they did both at the same time, there would be a lot of people dying with a smile on their face.

I understand why Britney Spears went ape-shit and shaved her head that time.  If I came across her this week I’d shave her freakin’ head too.

But anyway.  Perhaps the next time I blog here I’ll be a pacifist.  And Brit will be shaved down and round once more.  Hey, it could happen.  Commence breath-holding.