Cracks

FRIG.

Pardon my language.

FLIP.

FLUB.

FRACK.

FUCK.

FUUUUUUUCK.

I think I can now say that I HATE MY LIFE.

I hate it. I hate it.


You know what crossed my mind, last Sunday, when a ginger cat passed in front of me?

"I wonder if it would be hard to surgically remove that cat's heart. And lungs. Maybe it's easier to start with just the head. Simply cut the neck. Oh, this reminds me of that idea I had about a guillotine. For kittens."

That.

I don't know if that's relevant, if it's a reliable indicator of my hating life, or just a sign of severe depression, or even insanity.

But I do like the color red.


FUCK.

I hate my life. Usually when I hate things I don't want them ended.

But this is an exception.

Come, Death! I'll probably resist, maybe I'll fight you all the way, but know this: I WANT TO LOSE.

So come at me. Hurry.