Mudsquirreling

I'm Vaguely Human


Well, after waiting out my big, fat coworker to leave, I was able to begin drinking at five. Something I should have taken into consideration, was the size of the beers I ordered.

According to Scott, the juggernauts I was ordering were the size of 2 and a half beers and I beat two of them back within an hour. It was ugly. I'm a pretty big drinker, but that was five beers in an hour and I wasn't expecting it. Also, I didn't eat a lick that day. So, I'm having a normal conversation with Scott at this shitty chain-restaurant bar when I begin slurring my words.

It was sad.



Oh, good news! I don't have lip cancer. It seems the fucking Colgate whitening toothpaste is to blame.

As I wrote before, I was getting some sort of film on my bottom lip in the morning. Well, I took it to trials and figured out that it was only happening after I showered. So, I'm thinking maybe it's the water. Well, then I start thinking harder and realized that the film's texture reminds me of the crap that's on Crest Whitening Strips (P.S. you're not suppose to use these if you're a smoker – they open "pores" in your teeth that end up getting tar'd up).

So, long story short – my toothpaste causes lip cancer.



The diet is dead.

Well, at least on nights I'm going to binge drink. The no food diet (which worked in the past) is severely dangerous to the hardcore drinker in the way that you get fucking blitzed easily. I passed out at ten last night, for fuck's sakes. No, the diet will resume on the next day I'm not going out. But, I'm going drinking tonight, so, I had a bagel.



I feel like drinking tonight! Drinking tonight!

That's right. I'm going over to Erin's to watch an exclusive ABC special on UFOs. See, it's not going to be like all that shit you see on Sci Fi – no, Peter Jennings will be there. For those in the dark:

Peter Jennings = News.

So, I'm going to drink beer and watch Peter Jennings uncover a skateboard with wings that crash-landed into a Virginia home.



Virginia.

According to Amy, Virginia is the epicenter of Freak Power. Seriously, I'm never going there, it's ripe with child molesters, people who bathe in lakes, men who beat women, storage units full of gypsies, and monkey incest followed by decapitation. Seriously: stay away from Virginia.



Places to stay away from in Washington:

Anywhere east of the mountains.

Really, it's the armpit of Washington. In fact, one of the louses that lives there, a Senator in fact, wants to split the state in half and make a new state. I'm all for it. Eastern Washington is an embarrassment to the West and I hope Hanford turns it into a moonscape that I can shuttle by in an airtight monorail, rather than drive through that ugly desert of shanties and rednecks.



There's a conference coming up in Seattle that I'm supposed to attend. This made me feel like an adult for the first time since I got this job.

It's like three days and it's downtown (no commute, dope!). One of the classes is about all the new technologies coming out and I think I'm going to have to take some sort of barbiturates to enhance it. Because, guess what one of the topics is?

Virtual Humans.

That's right. I read it. It's really there. I'm going to treat this like watching 2001 and get heavily tanked and hear about the marvels that are the virtual humans. Hell, I'm virtually human. They should have studied my habits.



Vaguely Human.

I mean really, I'm not exactly right with the mainstream and my insides are so polluted that an autopsy would end up on the Sci Fi channel.

In fact, I'm wondering if my liver and lungs even exist and whether the mad scientist that is Mother Nature has given me some sort of universal survival organ. There's no reason I should be able to pump blood and breathe air in the condition I'm in.

When you throw in the fact that I hung out in my studio with the lights out, drinking a beer by candlelight and listening to music like a freak last night – c'mon.

Diagnosis: Vaguely Human.



Pleace,

Matt