motherfucking friday

cue theme music for the messy death of social norms, sobriety, and anything positive in my general viscinity. i am going to break things and spend a statistically significant amount of time as a drunken raving lunatic, as per usual. brian left a new weapon at the apartment, and it seems wrong somehow to not use it to ruin property or people that do not belong to me.
also, if my dryer is not fixed by the time i get home tonight, i am going to throw a baby into traffic. i don't even care what species, so long as the parents are watching. i have cut a check for rent including working laundry facilities, and i will not tolerate a reality that does not conform to the money => good-services model.
if the hobo is on my porch tonight, i am going to glass that motherfucker. hobo a.j. has returned with the decent weather, and has set up camp in our neighboorhood. i am not even the only person who is kicking him off our property, but the magical wicker couch is a compelling place to sit, and so he returns every couple days only to be yelled at and prodded on his way. this week has been almost as much fun as a brick to the teeth, so we are now resorting to grievious bodily damage to get the point across.

small world

just found out that brother justin from carnivale was played by the motherfucking kurgan. and that's awesome.
now i just want to see something, anything, get made featuring clancy brown, christopher walken, tobin bell, and tim curry. and then no one will ever sleep again.

a few unrelated things

- survived the apocalyptic flooding in glendale, shorewood, whitefish bay yesterday. normal commute home from work: 10 minutes. yesterday? 2 hours. streets with over a foot of water on them, abandoned cars, the freeway and about 1/3 of the streets closed completely, all in the little prius that could.
- took an umbrella spoke to the eye, papercuts on eyelids are annoying.
- best sentence of the day so far: "Also considered one of the more practical/lazy wrestlers in the near century-long existence of pro wrestling (counting the carny days), while every other wrestler was coming up with new crazy risky moves to finally put their opponent down, Randy Orton was the one man to go 'Why don't I kick him in the head really hard?'"