Quick note. Just saw the Almighty Father pop on messenger as I was sitting here in the state of Hideous Unsleep which vicodin withdrawal has imposed, and I started bitching at him about how far behind I was in my moving schedule, and how I'd never get all this stuff to Brooklyn, and he said, quote, "so what the hell's your problem? Find some gay guys and give them ecstasy or whatever."
Ladies and gentlemen, that small creature which you see dying on the pavement is, in fact, my childhood.
For further glimpses into Father's psyche please scroll down this Interminable Page to about a year ago and check out the discussion about the piscatorial eschatology and the portcullis. Really it's a fucking miracle we're as well-adjusted as we are.
Also, I've figured out how we're going to differentiate ourselves from all the other navel-gazing ranters out there. Scouts honor. Starting as soon as we can be bothered, look sort of over that way ------------->.
Fun will be had by all.