But I called one of your respected friends an Asian American publisher. And I called someone redbeard and said that he stinks like me. And I didn't even get my dad a 3.95 Hallmark card. And I can't get this place cleaned

for the life of me. Is somebody knocking at the door? No. It could be the Asian American publisher though.

If maybe I will only show Sylvia the stuff I wrote about the girl whose name I forgot at the party. But I didn't say that she has bad breath. I probably have bad breath. I think it might be a sign of a talented writer. She writes. I write. We all have bad breath.

The phone is on the liquor cabinet. I keep waiting for a message from Ruth. There is a mole. Labia lips of my sister. Bathtub kisses. Catching the garter to my grandma's great pleasure. In my teeth. Throat chakra spinning like a hurricane Mel. There is a piece of foam on the television table. I put it on the dog razor and put the dog razor in the hallway cabinet.

I'm waiting for more messages from Ruth.

A new camera opened up into Leora's home. Probably to console those of us who have been missing her recently, even though I masturbated to one of the Motherless videos of her masturbating this morning.

I have to do the dishes. This place has to be presentable for her brother who comes in tomorrow.

What is the case here?

Pass this level.

Pass the power. Give me strength oh lord. The dishes never stop coming. Where am I? What is the point? Regardless of whether or not I write, this is my life. I don't know how to change it. We all need money. We all need motivation. Do I have diabetes? Do I have a thyroid explosion like Piper? I am everywhere and no where. That's what Ruth says. All of my old Page friends want to read me.

But I don't have any cigarettes left and there is still a pile of clothes on the dog kennel. I had to get another blueberry vial. It costs 5.44. Pretty good deal if you ask me. 18 mg of nicotine. Dropping it down from 24. I could get to zero and then what would I be. Just a guy who likes the feel of vapor on his lungs. And burnt batteries. Am I a pile of burnt batteries? That's what Ectypia says. that I am a pile of burnt batteries. But people have to keep vaping me, because they are addicted. Addicted to the vapor.

Those clothes though. They are vanishing from atop the dog kennel. One after another. That's how to do it. Stone by stone you pave the road.

And I found the remote.

I have been looking so long for it.

You could get your face featured in the next installment of The Talking Dead,

I have to clean the toilet. And I have to learn more css. Lilli reads a lot into this code. I've got to keep it clean for my beautiful love interest. Freckle butt.

I cleaned the bathroom, starting with the toilet. First you spray the top and do the lid and then you move into the dirty stuff, like the piss rim and the base. Places where piss and poop particles are most likely to gather. You also absolutely have to make sure to clean the flushing lever. That thing can be touched by the hand you whiped your bloody butt with. There's a whole slew of diseases possible there.

I have to do the dishes. It's the next big task. It's already 12:11. Musette will be calling around 1:15. At least that's how it usually is.

There is this plate with hard brown stuff on it from a NY Shephard's Pie that I made earlier. It took forty minutes to cook in the little oven that we have. I need to run the water over it.

Piper made an Instagram. I told her to give me the name so that I could follow her. She was excited until I told her that I don't really have an instagram. Then she called me a liar and told me that she is better at stalking than that.

"Oh, so do I have an Instagram?"

"You tell me. Do you trust me."

Yes, and I think I remember setting one up now that you mention it.

They were showing the guy with the long hair a lot in Twin Peaks today. He appeared directly in the reality of the girl who looks like the main girl that was murdered because she is her cousin who the midget in the dream said would look that way.