Mornings with Drowsy Douche: Icicles and Bubbies

There's a huge icicle hanging from the roof of my apartment building. It's at least 5 feet long and has a sharp point, as it should. How fucked up would it be if you were killed by a falling icicle? Think about it. Besides your grieving family, the news of your daffy death would spread to ancillary acquaintances, your entire home town, and local news outlets. You'd be the schmuck who got cut down by a fucking icicle. It would confirm the meaningless chaos of life to some, while others would chalk it up to god's will...

"It was his time. God designed a sharpened piece of frozen water to fall upon the flesh of this youngling as a warning to us all. We must erect a statue in his honor. "

"A statue? Fuck that! I heard he was in blackface when he died. If you ask me, motherfucker got what was coming."





I'm glad to be writing regularly again. I kinda took a break after I went down to Miami on the 15th of December. I stayed with my Bubbie. No internet access there, which was a tremendous relief. It's comforting to know that there's nothing I can do but resign myself to books, dvd's, and Bubbie. Sure, I watched some news to figure out the weather and check the score of a Blackhawks game or two, but other than that, it was Bubbie and sun during the day, books and dvd's at night. The vastness of the internet troubles me sometimes, and staying plugged in makes me feel stranded with infinite choices. Infinity scares the shit out of me.