Friday

Just sitting at my desk…Friday evening. I have had one hell of a week or two. What to say…put in 13+ hours yesterday, then went home and kept working from 8-12. Back to work at 7am. Pretty neat. Today has finally slowed and I’m mulling the idea of prank calling (crank calling? whatever) a bunch of my homies in the States. A whole lot of you are on deck, and you’re sleeping away and don’t even know it. 4.17am…sweet. God, I’m dying to do it. Even JJ is probably asleep by now, though he won’t get one because…well, because. Because, believe it or not, after all of the scammy-ass BS he pulled back at Swarthmore, that’s my boy right there. The guy who comes through when you need him, remembers your birthday with awesome, thoughtful gifts, forgives you when you forget his birthday, and knows what it means to be a good friend. Plus, his job is cooler than like 90% of you people.

So here’s to you, JJ – no 4.19 phone call for you. I hope you’re ready to go shooting this fall when I get back, because I want to completely destroy those two cases of shells. I wanna shoot all day long until my arms are tired and my shoulder is bruised. We’ve got to find out what kind of punch those light competition loads are packing, you know?

I can’t wait to get home. I wish there was some cool DVD that I could nick from the video store. Hell, I’d even pay for it. VCDs here are cheap, but DVDs are a fortune, and my local VCD joint has disappeared (second one, too) so I’m stuck with Sam Goodyballsac. Paid almost 30 bucks last month for that Metallica DVD, but it was kind of worth it after the week I had. Their lyrics are funny. I used to sort of hate James and Lars equally, little “we are Metallica” snotbags, but now I’m a big fan of James – keep fighting the good fight, man. I think I covered this already. Lars, you little rich boy brat punk. Your wife’s name is Skylar. My baby’s name crushes your baby’s name.

Ok, I wrote more but cut it. Some of this stream-of-consciousness stuff is better left inside. Yikes. Later.

Chucky