MY PARENTS, CIRCA 1970.

So sweet, their whole lives ahead of them and they spawned me.

Gotta go, I'm late for my DJ shift at the strip club.

goochout.

I don't like bringing work into this website, but I have to say it:

Fuck Geek Squad.

Fuck their VW Beetles, their stupid black shoes, white socks... whatever. I do not want my industry to be diluted into gimmicky advertising devices and mediocre service.

Those ridiculous commercials with the jet packs and fake badges? Let me tell you something, a fake badge presented upon arriving at your house or business should not instill confidence. It should instill annoyance.

Keep it real. I won't even mention my company name or domain as that's not really my point here. Always stick with local independent contractors for any work or service you have done.

I'm going to stop before I start waving a flag and singing the American Anthem.

goochthefuckout.

I haven't slept in my own bed for a week now. I've slept on my own couch and in my office. Am I practicing for marriage?

Woke up this morning hungover with a voice message from someone telling me that she "hopes I have fun with the sign." Hoping that the memory sparked was only a dream I looked out on my patio to find I was harboring a stolen handicapped-parking sign complete with post. I have to sneak the damn thing back now as I don't want the fucking thing. I've actually grown out of decorating with stolen street signs.

Here's to drinking a fifth on the fourth.

Goochout.

Drank a little bit too much beer last night and utilized my office as a close-to-town crash pad. I should play the A-Team theme song while I unfold the hideabed and tune the satellite radio and use the leather jacket as a makeshift blanket.

I love it when a plan comes together... indeed.

I have a computer to deliver and it's going to be early based on my location and time waking up. Beer hangovers are God's alarm clock.

goochout.

Forgive me, readers, for I have sinned. It's been one week since my last confession.

It's Sunday afternoon and I'm sitting in my office trying to resolve the issues of a customer's computer that is likely infested with spyware/adware likely contracted from a late night porn-site excursion.

I've gone on a couple of dates with a great girl and I've enjoyed her company so much and had such a good time that I'll probably never call her again.

A bit of depression has set in lately. I wasn't going to dump the details on this site, but this isn't supposed to happen. I'm not eating much, sleep has diminished to little bouts of three hour slumbers. I actually turned down a stripper for sex. Work is painful, but I know that income is probably going to be the only thing that brings me happiness for now. Fuck, I sound pathetic but it's true. I take enough god damned pills that the thought of gagging on the barrel of a revolver should be the farthest thing from my mind. I haven't even wanted to go home lately, forgoeing digital cable and bed at home for hide-a-bed and satellite radio in the office.

Don't feel sorry for me... I know that my life is pretty sweet. Still, I can't shake this feeling. If booze and strippers won't pull me out of despair then what will?