There is no way I’m going to let myself get old. Not like what I had to deal with today. Jesus. Can’t do it. If I make it to 65 (which is relatively unlikely), I’ll probably point the Panty Dropper south and head to the border where I’ll get in some ridiculous gun battle with los federales, and go out in a pointless and clearly avoidable blaze of glory.
There is one aspect of research I’ve been doing for the slasher novel that I rather enjoy more than some of the others. At this point, my thinking is, “Well, okay, I probably have this down but…can I really be sure? I should probably do this at least a few more times, just so I can be absolutely certain that I’m getting it right.” Heh. There are times when one must suffer for one’s art, dearest reader, and this is just such a time.

N.P.: “Slice of Life” – Bauhaus

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