The final countdown

So I have about four months until dementia sets in. It was nice knowing you all. Or not. What the fuck do I know, I’m about to lose my mind. Try not to take it personally when I spit that tapioca pudding you’re trying to feed me in your face and call you a whore.1

  1. Unless you’re a prostitute I hired in a rare and fleeting moment of lucidity, in which case, get back to work! []

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