Notes on a Wednesday

Notes on a Wednesday

I'm hella-tired.

Hella.

Also? A touch pukey.

Without the actual puke. Which is good, I guess. Except, there's no satisfactory ending. You know, after you've heaved and hurled? There's no "Whew...it's over...."

The secret, I guess? No food in the stomach.

In his rest time, Tommy's written a little bit. He's watched the movie Balls of Fury, which he liked, in spite of himself. It really makes him wish The State would finally come out on DVD.

It also makes him want to play Ping Pong.

I don't talk much trash on this blog. Mostly it's a shrine to my confusion at how the world works. But there is one thing I am ultimately confident about:

I would whip your ass at ping pong.

Whip. Your. Ass.

Seriously. Bad.

You'd have to call in to work the next day.

They'd write songs about it.

Of all the beatings you'd ever taken in your life, you'd look back on that one moment in your life as "defining."

Horribly.

Heh heh heh.