Eggs and Ham

Working through "The Droogs" is like working through birthing a child. The idea was planted and the anti-child is growing within me. It is only a matter of time until the damned break free and spill their brood from my gaping wound. I hope no one read that.

Honestly I'm excited about it, even if it likes to kick my bladder and make me pee a little all the time. Working on it means remembering some of the amazing times that the three and then four of us have had together. The women that have come and gone, the booze that warmed us and the banter that charmed steak and shake employees into trading strong drink for hot food. All of it comes together on the page and lifts the curtain that time throws on memory. The more I write the more I remember how quickly we became friends and how close we came to losing eachother to time and circumstance.

On another note, I write this from my philosophy class and I wish that I cared. Philosophy has led to some of the greatest questions we can never answer and others that science has used to make life better. I respect that. I would respect it more if the classes that involved this subject were less about what the professor thought about life and feelings and more about a class discussion. Maybe then I wouldnt feel obligated to decide that, although it is morally wrong to ignore someone who is trying their best to help you with the subject, it is also wrong to ignore one's own desires in the attempt to make someone else feel better. That shit is for altruists and, as I have learned for the last four weeks, altruists suck.

Ash Wednesday in two days, best pull on your praying boots and smear burnt plants on your face for Jesus. He knows that you showed your tits for beads on Tuesday, oh my brothers, so best beware.