A very blah and depressive weekend considerably improved by the surprise arrival of the Valley Boys.
The Rudy thing has become the festering evil at the heart of their universe and the poor kids just can’t keep talking about it. Hey fairietard, let us know if you ever need any “release”, because your “buds” are there for you. We could be workout partners, or something. 🙂
The decline of Diedrichs 17th St. continues apace, with almost daily measurable loss of service. They are now incapable of: 1) making coffee 2) removing bottled beverages from a fridge and selling them 3) keeping cups in stock 4) keeping change around or 5) remembering your order for more than 15 seconds.
The staff now consists of middle-aged drug rehab cases with slurred speech who get lost between the store and the dumpster in the parking lot. It’s like the short bus crashed into the halfway house. They all display classic symptoms of severe and continued drug abuse (ability to listen to the Eagles all day, slow reaction times, inappropriate laughter) and can happily stare into space for hours without any activity. I liked it better when they had young, sprightly drug addicts working there. It’s very painful now, like a documentary movie about head injury victims.
The medication I’m taking to reverse my Dead Guy syndrome makes my stomach hurt all the time and I am grumpy as a result. No, scratch that. I’m borderline enraged as a result. It takes tremendous effort to be polite. The cat has been especially loving and solicitous due to my depression and illness lately, although I’m not sure how having my arm licked is going to fix anything.
I want money and a pretty girl.