Dead animals
◊ It started with the bat that my creepy neighbor gave me for my birthday. It's a real, dead bat mounted in a real, live paperweight. It's the kind of thing that gives most kids nightmares. Obviously I loved it.
And now, thanks to the wonders of Google and eBay, I found out where the thing came from, and how to buy more. I have two butterflies and a tarantula now, and a hermit crab should be arriving in the mail by the end of the week.And now all you motherfuckers are going to be storming the internet auctions, buying them out from under me.
Good. That leaves me more money for alcohol.
Speaking of money, I have a new job. I start training tomorrow. I will be a barista. I will make very little money, but if it keeps me in drink, gasoline, and piercings, I really don't care.
The caf� where I'll be working is near a high school, so it's always swarming with teenagers. It's maddening. All these hot 17-year-old guys everywhere that I love to look at but that I know I'd want to execute within ten minutes of meeting them. I also don't have the time, patience, willingness, empathy, or adequately low standards I'd need to train one so it'd be any good in the sack.
Hmm. That looks suspiciously like sunrise outside the window. Better try to get at least an hour's sleep before I have to go memorize how to make thirty different sissy coffee drinks.