So for those of you that know, and those of you that don't.... and those of you who didn't care or realized that you might care, but still don't anyways. I live in Seattle. The suicide capital of the world, not that I'm suicidal, I'm just too cheap to pay for horror movies. Then again who isn't at ten dollars a ticket. Jeez.
Anyways, I live in Seattle, but my parents, or that is my Mother and my younger Brother (the Cartoonist) live about two hours north in Bellingham. Bellingham is a nice little town that's reminisent of a scene in Alice in Wonderland, mostly due to the large amounts of copious marijuna smoke that perputally bellows from the University. One of the reasons I moved to Seattle. High people, not quite as entertaining when you're sober... or just a little contact high....
However, I do tend to like to go visit as I still have some friends up there, as well as my parents and my cat. However, as my car has recently decided to commit the carnal sin of trying to kill it's master, namely me. I have to plan these visits much more selectively, and via bus. Namely Greyhound home of the bottom of the barrell, and those that kind of just really seem like they might rape you.
Now don't get me wrong, being massively poor for most of my life I have nothing against poor people (except for the rapist not super keen on rapists). I mean poor people are people too, we just smell a little worse, and usually have a keen perpetual desire for beer. Both qualities that you'll notice about us if you ever decide to ride on the Greyhound.
Along with the poor are the voluntarialy poor. These are poor people that are not the bottom of the barrel but just really stuck up rich people who have decided instead to be poor so that they can continue to stroke their egos about how much the rest of us suck for living in society like normal people. These people are easily recongized by their large rucksacks, annoyingly arrogant grins, and the fact that they still smell really horribly, like dead hooker that you forgot was in your closet from Grandpa's last trip to town. They don't like beer, though, too mundane. No for them it's so organic spice bitch beer shit made out of rainbows and the sweat and tears of joyful naked gay people riding like zombies through Fremont in broad daylight.
Anyways, the bus is an interesting place is the point I think I'm getting at here, even if I'm not very coherent.
My lack of coherency is probably due to the fact that I'm currently sitting at 2 in the morning in Bellingham typing on my friend's laptop as she crushs my lap with her oil tanker sized ass. I haven't the foggiest what the hell shes doing. Probably making notes on how to kill babies.
But that's not the full reason I'm tired. No the full reason is that this is not my first trip in the last two weeks. No in fact this is my third trip. The first, the aforementioned bus trip to Bellingham ended in the bus company fucking me royally in the ass until I bleed out a pear fucked by the fruit fucker. So instead of a fancy, and smelly, bus ride home. I had to borrow a car to drive home to work on time. I had to be at work you see.
After work, I had to be in Ellensburg, which is through the two waredrobes and up the monkeys ass all the way to Narnia. We drove there, you see. To pick up my friend's air force uniform, so that he could wear it when he leaves...in a month. So we drove out slept and turned around and drove back.
Then I went to woke. Then I got really drunk..... and lit things on fire....
and then I celebrated the fourth.... and then I slept and worked and then I drove back up to Bellingham so that I could get on a bus to go back to Seattle tomorrow....
oh and sometime died in my flat during these travels and I haven't been home long enough to figure it out....
yeah....
I'm done....
don't ride the greyhound...
unless you need to.....
then just bring beer... it makes it better.
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