So what’ll it be, Jesus? Christmas, or Easter? You can’t have both. I know you’re just in it for the extra presents (everyone knows that people with birthdays near Christmas get stiffed), but fucking shit — whether you came back from the dead or not in the first place (and you didn’t, because that’s impossible — but supposing you might have), you’re dead as a doornail now. Considering this, you probably don’t merit even one birthday party a year.

I really don’t think that it’s fair that your worm-eaten ass gets to inconvenience those of us that choose not to form deep personal relationships with corpses (seriously, people, that’s pretty morbid) by closing down everything but IHOP multiple times per year. All I got to do today was sit around and stew about my ruined weekend plans.

Could you bastards at least arrange to hold your borrowed pagan fertility festival on the same day each year? For those of use who aren’t Christians (or at least, for me), it’s pretty easy to lose track of the precise date, on account of it holds absolutely no meaning whatsoever.

More zombie goodness last night… Above is what I looked like when I got home. Luckily the fake blood didn’t stain anything, including my hair, but it’s a bitch getting that stuff in your eyes, for future reference (at least if you’re wearing contacts). I was half blind for a little bit there, but I don’t think I klutzed it up too much, considering. I haven’t noticed any new bruises that don’t wash off, at least. Last time, I was covered in them. Then again, that seems to be the case most days. I pretty much guarantee that since I’m not really awake yet, that the first thing I’ll do once I get up to get back into bed in a minute will be… walking straight into my doorpost.

As you can tell from these pictures, I’ve put on a lot of weight lately. Fat, fat, fat :-p Actually, I have put on 10 pounds lately. And I’m still a twig. How knobby my knees must have been a couple of months ago! I’m pretty sure that my shoulder blades could actually cut you…