The clock struck 12 as I lay in bed chewing black licorice last night, pontificating on one of the finer things in life, that being life itself. Ive managed to make 33 years now at this, half of that spent in all sorts of ways with all sorts of lots, the other half under the ample bosom of my Mother who most likely would have never predicted this day spent anywhere less than a tombstone in some misty plot…
Yet here I stand, just slightly worse for the wear.
Frankly: Its shocking.
Hello world: in a few short years I will be living up North on a reservation building strong wooden boats, drinking clear wonderful booze and writing on yellowed, decrepit paper. Occasionally I might will make a pass at the Chiefs’ daughter.

Heres your daily bee: (NSFW)