Morning coffee and your daily routine, be it class or work, do not really mix. You chug a mug, and rush out the door to meet the day, and then WHAM. The coffee starts working your innards, and you’re trapped in Public Bathroomland. You either A) make use of the onsite facilities, knowing that everyone in proximity will hate you forever, or B) wiggle around in intestinal agony, spending your entire day dreaming of the moment when you finally reach the Holy Land of Poo.

It’s a right horrible ordeal to go through.

But I think it should be noted, right here, right now, that the almost zenlike feeling of finally making it to your personal potty party is really, very worth the wait.

I feel like I could solve some problems now. I feel like I could save some people now. I feel… like I could change the world. I really, honestly, truly could. One poo at a time.

Thank you and God Bless.

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According to the USPS, we have a new person living with us here in #83. Some cat called Terrance Johnson. Well, I’m sure this fucker is a nice fella, and I hold nothing against him (which isn’t really readily apparent from the fact that I called him a “fucker” just now, but if he’s old enough to be living outside his parents domain, I suppose he is old enough to technically be a “fucker”). Just drop it in the outbox with a small note that says “wrong fucking address, fucktards”, and that’s the end of that.
Well, until I check the mail today. Nothing for our new “imaginary roomie”, but the mailman saw fit to tag our box with a little card that lists the residents. The first name being this “Johnson” fucker. Then mine and Kev’s. And they misspelled Kev’s name. Now, this in and of itself is not really a big deal, and it is something I imagine I’ll get very much used to in future days, but it was the fact that they fucked it up so badly, AND decided that they were absolutely RIGHT about this Johnson-fucker living here, SO VERY RIGHT about it that they listed him as the FIRST RESIDENT OF THE GODDAMNED RAGE SPIT HATE AND RRRRRRRRRRGH.
Yeah. It just kind of… pissed me off.
So I kind of ripped up the little “residents” card and left them a nice note. Which is much much nicer than the first two (the absolute first being a rather delicious collection of four-letter no-no words).

I hope this is the end of the whole “Johnson” debacle, because the next time this happens, I’ll likely be carted off to jail for defacing a mailbox.

The news of the day isn’t all bad. I finally got around to dropping by sQecial to pick up a carton of cloves. I really wish I could’ve bought a second, but hopefully we’ll find a friendly overseas supplier before we run out entirely.