When it fucking rains, it fucking pours.

What a hell of a week. From the heights of good times and great beer to the depths of misery and Mad Dog 20/20 in a matter of hours. Feh.

My prescription is as follows: drink heavily tonight and beat your head into walls while railing against the injustice of:

• The universe in general
• That heeb bastard in Harrisburg
• All the Irish whiskey distilleries being owned by the French
• The universe again, just for good measure

Tomorrow a meeting, then the big annual Kinney-bash. Sure to be replete with weirdness and assorted abominations. So long as I don’t have to curl up to sleep inside the turbine of a 747 again, I’ll be relatively happy. Probably go upstairs and sleep on a pile of dirty laundry curled around an AK-47.

When you go to sleep around this sort of people, it’s best to do so well-armed.