Summer Time & The Living Is Easy.

Hold it now, wait a minute, just let me catch my breath. Fall semester’s over, and I’m positively jubilant. Made it through a gauntlet of swinging axes, motorized chainsaws, and ovulating desperate women with elephantiasis of the labia. Grad school man, not like it used to be. I’m excited man, excited.

I’m in my sweatpants! Just straight kicking it. Snow is falling, Santa Claus is assuredly preparing his run, and there is scant hours before I’m nestled up to my future-wife. Is time linear? Is God watching? Is he outside time? Has he already seen my children? Are they awesome? Can someone tell me? Aquinas? Anselm? Descartes? Bueller?

I was reading some Zero History by Billy Gibson when the sudden urge to just type hit me. So here I am. Nothing really to say. But most of the time it’s like “Oh hey! Check out X thing that is totally happening! Here I compare it to some sort of genital squirting into some sort of farm animal! LOL! I tell jokes!” It’s different when I’m not strung out on Diet Mountain Dew trying to post a news article as quickly as possible. Or staring at a deadline approaching as I try to cobble together five things in the video game world.

11:16 on a Monday evening and all I got is time, baby. Time! Well, for the most part. But even the universe is dying, who am I to complain?

Goddamn grateful to be existing this evening, as per usual. What a wonderful time in human history to have rocketed out of my Mom’s vagina. Like, really. I mean I didn’t get the choice, but I would have happily chosen this time period out of a list. Space-faring society would have been the first, but let’s not get greedy. Some poor fucks had the indistinct pleasure of being born during the medieval period. Furthermore, some poor fucks don’t get born into an optimal life whatsoever. Right as I’m typing this. Into drought, or warfare, or famine. I’m a middle class white guy? What do I have to complain about?

My nuts hurt, I cannot approach infinity, and my local hockey team blows.

Asides from that? Everything is cool, man. Cool.

Looking forward to the next, ten days or so. My life is littered with enjoyable events from here to January 5. We got Christmas, which is always an orgy of excessive materialism, and love. Then there’s my anniversary (I’ve tricked this broad for fucking three years. And they say the force isn’t real) on the 28th. No sooner do I brush the Chez-It crumbs out of my beard and we’re looking at New Year’s Eve. Six days later and it’s my birthday. The cake, there is plenty of it. The mirth, it is overflowing.

What are you assholes up to? Have you been good? Is Santa going to reward your beneficent behavior with toys and treats and flavored lubes? Or is Krampus going to have to put a stink down on your face with his birch of wrath? Dude is vicious. Ask my ass.