No time to write. No time for exercise. Fuck, I got three weeks of "The Walking Dead" to catch up on.And I worry about ending up with a first shift job.
The bars, what few are left downtown, aren't much fun on the weekends, unless you got friends to tear it up with (what I hope to come out with from all the late night activity), so waking up in the AM is kind of scary.
Farmington Road, is that where my future intoxicated adventures are to be found? When the only time I left the Dormitory, I was pissy about who I could have mopped the floor with, going anywhere besides the Jukebox, that future seems bleak.
With any luck, the MMA plans will come to fruition. I'll catch on to BJJ and Muy Thai quick enough that I can bust my ass to cut weight for fights, and hopefully old school "Conan: The Barbarian" rewards.
Still, it is just difficult to change your ways without proper motivation. It almost makes me wish that I was two-dimensional fat. No small compliments to inspire you to believe that you are good enough, smart enough, and the rest of that ironic bull shit.Then again, how many of my fat fuck friends end up with their own families without dropping a single pound? Makes me genuinely believe I'm just unattractive.
Dedication, I guess I got to the point with drinking that I don't think about how shitty my life is when I'm drunk.
Perhaps Russell Claude is back. But I do wonder, should I just spend my booze money on a dating website.
When they guarantee tits in my face, let me know. I got to be true to myself, hence a return to the Dario Argento filmography.
Check out the rest of this blog at "Main Event of the Dead.com and let me know if my satire and movie knowledge should produce a Pro-Wrestling Zombie movie.
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