Tuesday, October 11, 2005

broken

but not in an existential, nine-inch-nails kind of way. yet.

so a week ago i fractured three vertebrae in my back. and yeah, it hurt like a bastard. it still does hurt like a bastard. but really not the worst part, the painful stabbing is.

I AM SO FUCKING BORED. BOREDBOREDBOREDBOREDBORED.

i cant go anywhere. i cant do anything. i cant stay in an upright and locked position for any significant period of time. zombies would waste me in a foot race. furthermore, if the world is taken over by zombies while im in this condition, i will be completely incapable of defending myself. and that, i think, is where the real danger lies. the threat of zombie uprising is ever-present.

but zombies are always wanting brains, so given that im rehabilitating myself in nova, i should be safe.

im stuck in northern virginia. the natural habitat of the cubicle dwelling, douche-bag being, i-went-to-UVA-look-at-me-im-such-a-fag, nova BUTT-HOLE. and maybe im a judgmental hag for loathing this area and the soul-less, joy-less, fuck-less existence that ive managed to avoid returning to after college, but ive been back here one motherfucking day and that has been one day too long.

to the dude on his crapping cell-phone talking extremely loudly about his "important bid-ness" outside my window at 6:30am: 1)shut the fuck up. its 6:30 in the motherfucking morning. asshole. some people have been up all night howling in the pain of their broken back. and free-basing their vicodin medication. 2)listen fag, youre my age. possibly younger. you dont have any important business to discuss. you probably fetch coffee for people. if youre not discussing sanka with the other fag they just hired right out of college, you need to keep your voice down. fag. 3)you, fag, are not fooling anybody. maybe, and this is a gargantuan fucking maybe, an hour of real work per day gets done in any given office around the country. i know this. anyone who's had the displeasure of working in an office knows this. it's all "let's hit the bald dude in cubicle 3 in the back of the head with my newly fashioned, stealthily constructed, double-rubber-banded-pen-gun-with-paper-footballs-and-ninja-stars-coming-out-of-its-ass weapon". 4)god i hate this place.

may i heal quickly and make my way back to where the wine and whiskey have hurt my eyes but the women have blinded me. i need a beer. or seven.

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