Worse Than Last Year

I had hopes, people. Or at least one small hope. Hope that it couldn’t possibly be worse than last year.

Instead, it has exceeded my expectations for suckiness. And I can’t even write about it — not here at any rate.

Hi, Dad. No one’s dead. The car is fine. Don’t call.

And I don’t even have a farking cigarette to help me deal. If anyone wants to send a pack my way, I prefer American Spirits, the yellow pack (brown circle). Thank you.

Now I really want the Steelers to win today. Because I don’t want to feel worse than I do right now.

(And thanks to M for being there, even on her bowling night.)