03.19.02 :: 9:30 am

It literally amazes me that I can be gone for one day ... make that 8 hours from work and everything is a steaming pile of poo when I get back.

8 hours, folks. How can everything that was so neatly organized and handled and taken care of and put to bed become such an unholy devil spawn? How?

And, mind you, I'm still not better.

Here's something to think about while I pray for sweet, sweet death:

The phenomenon of people in Manhattan who read and walk at the same time.

Just... just... just no. No. Stop. Don't do that anymore. Because I see you coming at me and not looking up and I'm going to crash into you on purpose to teach you a lesson.

Save the reading for your commute. Or the can.

Otherwise, step in front of a bus already and free up some sidewalk space, wouldja? Thanks.

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