What would you do if you only had a few days left to live? I know it’s a cliché thought-experiment that supposed to reveal what we “really want in life” but you know, I think you’re different. Like you might have a really poetic or whimsical way to leave this harsh world of waiting for lasagna and fleeting hot chicks just out of reach, beckoning, COME TO MY COOP, RIDE THE SWING if you know what I mean.
I’m dying at a rate of $25 dollars per hour. Where is my life going? Oh my god, I just slept for 15 hours again. I OPENED my mail. I did my laundry in under a week. What kind of life is Where are my room mates? Where’s Roy? Am I single? I don’t feel single. I need to start a tape label. I need to start a tape club. I need to start making a tape in my band. No, I need to start a new band I need to start a band that will score high on the GRE’s so I can get the master’s and then I’ll be qualified to start a tape label. QUIT MY JOB. QUOT MY JIB. That’s the ticket! Those lab rats never got me anyways, they were always like WHOA YOU’RE NICE, and I was like YEAH GUESS WORKIN’ HERE AIN’T SO BAD. LET’S GET PIZZA AFTER WORK. SORRY I CAN’T, I’M TOO DRUNK RIGHT NOW. What kind of existence is that? Although I crumple at the first sight of roadblocks, my path is to owning a record store. In Portugal, no Portuguese. I just with there was someone, you know, who I lived with, who would push me. Just a huge shove. Hopefully from a babe, and maybe they could be holding a sixer of Lagunitas with the other hand.
Whoa she’s gorgeous! Let’s just smoke. What were we talking about? I never said that.
Simi is me. So are you.