just woke up from a horrible and bland dream. my cat is screaming at me for food. there is none. i need to go to the corner store and get some more meaty selections. but i'm not ready to leave this mattress yet.
so soon, emma, ill put pants on, light a smoke and hit steven's convenience for you and you only. just let me post this, my first, blog first. i had moved to ottawa for some sort of job with stoeten, beau (gaudreau) and three non-descript ballcap wearing dream characters. we all lived in separate hotel room like apartments. i think the whole city was made of marble. it wasn't really ottawa--you know how dreams go. we got together for drinks but couldn't stay for more than one. we had to work in the morning. hellish. see, emma, isn't me writing this blog that is shittier than the dream i just had worth waiting to eat REAL! bits of tuna and other ground and formed fish pulp for? ... i don't care. I feel better for having blogged it. and any sucker who actually reads this, i guess the jokes on you. but don't blame me. blame cameron. he's the one who woke me up at 5am to tell me that the disraelis were changing their name to 'the fag.' and then proceeded to walk me thru the correct steps for jerking myself off. i had to let him go, tho, because i needed my phone hand to massage the olive oil (or whatever), i had to grab from the kitchen, on my balls. yes, mrreow indeed, emma. that is, i'm certain, what brought on that vacant wasteland nightmare dream i was caught in last night and why i had to punish you all with it. ofuckingk, emma!