Thursday, September 17, 1998
I need to stop listening to the Longpigs. Like, I really need to stop
listening to the Longpigs. Right now. Something bitchy. That's what
I need. Too bad I hate Ani Difranco or DiFranco or however the fuck
she spells her name. Ah, Pulp. Just put your hands up it's a raid.
Oh yeah. Did I mention I'm ditching that sunflower thing? I'm sick
of it. One more charming little decorative touch goes down the
metaphorical toilet of life. We won't use guns we won't use bombs
we'll use the one thing we've got more of that's our minds. Yeah Jarvis.
You fucking tell em.
Yeah. So I'm a little bored. Frankly. I mean, just between you and
I. In confidence. Cos I'm sitting here waiting for one Robert
Jason Leahey to arrive. Not that I have anything much better to do,
with the dubious exception of ruining my lungs via yet another
cigarette. Do you realize that if you smoke a pack a day for a year,
which, embarrassingly, I do, you are smoking a bare minimum of 7,300
cigarettes a year. This may seem like a lot, but I was disappointed
to note that even at this rate you have to be a smoker for 136.9 years
in order to hit the big one million. Which puts an interesting
perspective on Publisher's Clearing House, actually. If you take the
tax-free million, you get more dollars than one person living an
average lifetime could reasonably be expected to smoke.
Now we know why it is a bad idea to put a calculator into the hands
of a bored college student.