The Charwoman still lives, and now that goddamn toddler (grand-kid or great-grand-kid? Nobody’s talking) is screaming at the idiot dog, who is not taking the screaming well at all.
I don’t know if I’ve been lazy today, because I’ve tried to get things done, but it doesn’t feel like I have. Gotten things done, I mean. Even my watch seems frustrated with me:
Eat a dick, watch. I’m not doing it. These books aren’t going to write themselves. Yes, dear reader, it is now officially “books.” Plural. Not on purpose. The slasher novel went and developed a meaning. Worse yet, a satirical one. This is probably the worst thing that could have possibly happened.
Apparently the Grammy’s are on. Needless to say, I am not watching them. The last time I watched an awards show was in ’89, and I turned that one off in the middle in disgust. That having been said, I am aware that Ghost has been nominated for two awards: Best Rock Song for Rats, and Best Rock Album for Prequelle. I think winning both would be appropriate, but also unlikely, as the Grammy’s traditionally, suck and wouldn’t know good music if it fell out of the sky and wiggled about. Whatever.
N.P.: “Year Zero” – Ghost
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