General rantings

I’m so lucky. Day after day I receive emails from people I don’t even know that are deeply concerned about my erections. From pills to web sites, these individuals seem completely devoted to helping me achieve my full potential, offering ways to help me make the most of my manhood. Of course, none of them seem to know how to spell or use proper grammar,.

Today is every other day. I’m in my head, railing against the usual avalanche of blah, blah, blah. I have failed to convince myself to stop tilting at these windmills. I’d have a better chance to convincing Willy to abandon his efforts to reverse engineer my carpet. I hate the routine; I have to.
Anyway, while you’re here you might as well help yourself to some brownies that were left at the foot of my door yesterday morning by my upstairs neighbors–a high calorie apology for Friday’s 2:00 a.m. intrusion. They’d asked, so I’d offered that I’ve been getting up at the crack of dawn because of school. Drunkboy must have missed that memo. Mr. Gen-Y was not only so drunk that he was banging on the wrong apartment door and rattling my doorknob, but he was actually trying to push his way past me when I answered. I had to push back, and you ever know how that’s going to end, do you? What a fucking hassle. That confrontation ended my struggle with my conscience to go upstairs and actually say something about the noise. “There’s a guy at the door that says he wants to talk to one of the tenants,” the alcoholic-in-training said. “Oh. Just shut the door,” said my particularly anti-social neighbor, sitting on the couch right in front of me while holding a sofa cushion to the side of her head. Hmm, no offense, but fuck you too, sweetie. The brownies are nice, and the sentiment’s sweet, but I’m still keeping the non-emergency number for the police on my speed dial from now on.