Thursday, February 17, 2005
The beasts are killing me with their mean ropey hands. They are swaying around my neck, threatening-like. I am growing fangs in response. I want to drool on someone instead of onto my lonely desk. If I could find a young woman to smother with bodily fluids I would feel so happy. You may think I am a misogynist but I am not that foolish. Women are turmoil.