Brief Aside; aslinge-Flavored.

I miss Diana terribly because:

sidhefey216: i seriously need to fuck this paper in the ass
sidhefey216: give it a hernia or two
sidhefey216: stimulate its prostate glands
Chaodoom: anal hemmorhages!
sidhefey216: i had a long discussion w/ my gay friend when i was drunk on friday
sidhefey216: about gay anal sex
sidhefey216: it was very educational
sidhefey216: he told me not to have anal sex
sidhefey216: b/c i don't have a prostate
sidhefey216: but i guess you can!
sidhefey216: woohoo!
Chaodoom: that is
Chaodoom: very good to know
Chaodoom: ...
sidhefey216: yea!
sidhefey216: i don't recommend it
Chaodoom: no penis in butts!
sidhefey216: your ass would hurt!
sidhefey216: :-(
Chaodoom: butt made for poopy
Chaodoom: not peepee
sidhefey216: yay!

Sweden isn't so far away, right? I could probably bust a Kon Tiki and get my way there with a homemade catamaran.

Postscript: The Chinese character for "family" is needlessly complex. Heh. Read into that as you will; you're probably right.

Rampant Nationalism. Stein-Hoists and Rhythmic Clapping. Bitter Old Man.

Do you guys remember your European History?

You remember the rampant explosion of extreme nationalism that culminated, ultimately, in the assassination of Archiduke Ferdinand? And the ridiculously horrible World War that followed shortly thereafter?

Well, if you'd indulge me in a tiny leap in logic (Well, more of a tiny step. A skip? A logical shuffle!):

Seeing all these cute football away messages makes me wax all metaphorical in my own special sort of (anachronistically-inclined) way.

You know, I bet people tailgated for the Kaiser, too.

"JA DEUTSCHLAND!" they would all slur drunkenly, stomping their riflebutts into the cobblestones. That is, in between shotgunning beers and rhythmic clapping-- pardon, stein-hoists and goose-stepping.

Anyway, before I begin to ramble (This is me we're talking about; rambling is a serious possibility.) I'll just cut to the chase.

21 years, and I still have yet to give half a good goddamn about football. God, I'm such a bitter old man.

It's a good thing I'm so devilishly handsome, though.


Wait, what?

HEYYYYYYY. YEAHHHHHHH. WOOOOOOOO.

HEYYYYYYYYY

YEAHHHHHHHH

WOOOOOOOOO

PAPERRRRRRRR

I LOVE WRITINGGGGGGGG

I HAVEN'T SLEPTTTTTTT

I AM GOING TO GET SO MUCH SICKERRRRRRR

CLUB POWELLLLLLLLLL

HEYYYYYYYY

YEAHHHHHHH

WOOOOOOOOO

Consumptive Glow. Inevitability. Tiny Lungfuls.

I think I understand the addiction now.

Rough scratch, tiny plume of light. Delicate maneuvering as I touch it to the tip. Lightly, lightly. Feel, follow the consumptive glow all the way through my throat and lungs. Imagine plumes of ash. Billowing black settling, stifling the swelling red.

She's right when she says that this thing will kill me. They all are. It got my grandfather years before my birth was anything more than the daydreaming of a teenaged girl. But here's the dirty little secret that millions in taxpayers' money has tried to hide from me:

The inevitability is part of the charm.

Tiny lungfuls of self-destruction. They shouldn't taste so good.

I'll try to be entertaining some other time. When I'm in a more entertaining mood.