So it's time for a little confessional:

I've been holding something in for a really long time, and I don't just mean puberty, which I'm still waiting to break out when I find the right back-alley whore. Till then my balls are going to stay safe within the confines of my hairless lower thorax. Where they belong.

I get distracted easily. For instance, take the previous paragraph, if I may be so bold as to call the above brain-vomit a deliberate packet of coherent thought. It started out straightforward enough, and then devolved into a veritable scatological smörgåsbords wherein even the lowliest intelligence might not find sufficient refuge even from the anti-syntactic growls of a neo-realist lecture. What the hell am I talking about? That may or may not be my point.

I titled this piece before I started writing it. That's entirely coincidental. I had something to say originally, but, like most things in life, it disappeared before it could come to fruition. Again this brings me back to puberty. Tangentially perhaps. Irrelevantly certainly. And to all those English fellows who told me I couldn't write a sentence with only adverbs, I say this: "Well, well, well."

I'm going to be honest. I've been doing crack with a near-religious diligence since I arrived on campus just three weeks ago. I smoke it all the time. It makes me feel wonderful. But you know what else makes me feel wonderful? Actually, nothing. All I've got now is crack. You may think I'm joking, but I want you to think really hard about the following three things: 1.) If I weren't, how would you even know? 2.) Do you really think I'd want you to know? 3.) Wouldn't it be a load off my conscience to confess my faults and sins publicly to an audience that doesn't believe them? Also think about how much effort the French put into building the Eiffel Tower--and for what? You don't need to think about that last part, but frankly, I think it's the most interesting.

I write all my posts drunk. Every single one. I've never written sober on this blahg. You're probably thinking, "Well, gee, that doesn't make sense, since some of these are posted in the morning or early afternoon!" But you're forgetting one terribly important detail: I'm drunk all the time. I really wonder what you'd think of me if you met me when I was sober. You might think I was an ax-murderer. Probably because without alcohol I'm terrifically shy and introverted, quiet and seemingly malicious. Also I tend to carry around an ax. Why? Dragons.

I bet you didn't know that dragons can speak every human language. Simultaneously. I bet you didn't even know they were real. Did you? But have you ever seen a dragon? Have you ever had one approach you and openly admit they don't exist? Then I'd have to ask you: what makes you so sure, Mr. Skeptic? Yeah. You don't know shit. Also dragons can fly, whether or not they have wings. Explain that, Mr. Science. When will you admit that you're whole philosophy of objective analysis has just been an elaborate ruse? Probably right before the dragons eat you.

Where am I going with all this, anyway? Answer: straight down to hell. Hope you'll join me.