Reaching Out.

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September 9, 2021 by sandwichcontrol

And coming back empty handed.

The word of the day is: Requiem.

Requiem
[ rek-wee-uhm, ree-kwee-, rey- ]
noun
Roman Catholic Church.
Also called Requiem Mass . the Mass celebrated for the repose of the souls of the dead.
a celebration of this Mass.
a plainsong setting for this Mass.
any musical service, hymn, or dirge for the repose of the dead.

That was our thirty second recreation of this still from ‘Requiem For a Dream’.

Which is why Zaxxon gave me that word.

He still hasn’t forgiven me for making him watch it.

Well I only have three words for him.

Ass.

To.

Ass.

Speaking of blowing an o-ring, I’ve eaten spicy black bean burgers on these fancy KETO buns.

So much fiber and protein.

That shit cleaned out all of the OREO that was plastered all over my intestinal lining from my month-long cookie bender.

It was one giant fart propelled SCUD missile aimed right at the whatever-the-enemy-of-my-poop-is-called in the toilet.

I really need my pharmacy to get their shit together.

I’ve been off my meds since Monday night and things are starting to get a little hazy at the edges.

Also, how the fuck am I out of AAA batteries, again?!

I literally just bought some on Tuesday.

It’s Thursday isn’t it?

Fuck.

Did you Zeus came from Mount Ida?

That’s where I come from.

I mean his in Crete.

And mine is in Arkansas.

I’m not saying I’m Zeus or anything, but I could be related to him.

That dude fucked anything that moved.

And he usually did it while transformed into whatever animal he thought was cool at the time.

He definitely had notebooks in junior high that had shitty ballpoint drawings of emus and shit.

He’d also transform whoever he was thinking of boning into the same kind of animal so his wife wouldn’t find out and punish the ever-loving-shit out of whomever he slung his wang at.

That’s some real victim-blaming shit, Hera.

I’m sorry, but I’m a fucking mortal that can barely live past thirty and your husband, who’s a fucking god, turned me into a cow so he could fuck me as a bull.

How is this my fault?!

Olympus forbid he knock me up with his super sperm and he has to steal the unborn child out of my belly and sew it into his own thigh to finish cooking.

Those Greeks were pretty imaginative.

I’ll give them that.

Maybe I’ll finish that book today.

Or maybe I’ll flip out on the next person who looks at me wrong.

Who knows?

See ya’ tomorrow.

More soon. ~SC


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