So, it’s 16 Celsius in Chicago right now. I would have enjoyed being able to go outside this weekend and like, do some shit other than sit on my ass in frozen-ass boring blah Calgary where it’s also far toastier than usual at 1 fucking degree Celsius. Whoop dee fuck. Nothing to do here but watch an entire decade’s worth of action movies and get drunk and drunker and drunkest. Which I would probably be doing at home (or some equivalent thereof), but I’d be doing it by choice, not because there’s no place to go and no thing to do and no anything to whateverthefuck.
Whatever. I think we’re going to go to a mall in a bit, and spend our incredibly valuable magical American dollars on doodads and watchamacallits and whatever else is leftover from after the Christmas retail rape. DVDs with French clogging up the artwork. And haircuts or something. Geezum H Christmas, a mall, that’s exotic. To some Chicagoery types, anyways, yeah. Oh Bob, Bob I am bored. Shit closes here at six on a Saturday? What’s that moronicallism? Waking up before noon to go to a mall, that’s some of the dumbest dumbshittery ever. Oh yeah there’s like some Le Chateau outlet store. Let’s go buy some irregulars, yee helling haw. I heard that place is crapitude these days now. Thanks, Canada. Only place I can ever find pants that fit on this continent. Way to ruin me.
Okay, what, nevermind. It’s flooding back home in Chicago, so floodpants will be appropriate anyway. So good. GOOD!
Oh I am sooooo getting tipsier than tippily-toededly possible on the flight back to Chicago, mother fluffers.
Wonko. I’m out of sorts, methinks. Bye, Internettertypes.