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.