Dear Diary
Mood: Sleepy, or crazy. Fvck it, undecided.

Fvck around, they said. Find out, they said.

Fvck them all I say.

The greatest marital compromise euphemism I've heard was that of the snoring man. Apparently, dude snores so loud chainsaws are jealous. He meets his lady, and its love bombs and gum swaps from first sight. They decide to kick the bucket or tie the knot almost instantly, but fear of crotch electrocution via the great Gods above, or whatever the bible says, they don't move in together right away. Finally, the dreaded day comes, and they go to sleep. Or he does. Very loudly. His lady, sleep deprived and broke from trying every remedy from nasal spray to corkscrews, she tells him they have to see a doctor so somebody can get some god damn sleep other than him around that raggedy b!tch. She makes the appointment, he agrees, they go. This brilliant doctor listens to their story, his light bulb goes on, and he writes a cure all prescription for this predicament of bullshit.

Ear plugs.


Fuckin ear plugs.



Now, I'm not saying I can't sleep cause this mf snores. That's not what I'm saying.
I'm saying the louder this mf snores, the more my mind races. And I know I could buy the fuckin ear plugs, but what if I'm still sitting here with my mind going 185mph but also deaf.

Then, what, doc? Then fuckin what?


It's me. Fvck me.