Oh, dear reader…your boy has stepped in it now.  In fecus profundis, if you will.  Dig: me, a guy who cackles at Saw traps, quasi-admires Art the Clown for his creativity, and reads American Psycho over breakfast tacos and finds it funnier each time I read it, thinking I’m untouchable.  Then, today, I lose a lunchtime bet (don’t ask…it involved rather a lot of tequila and a dog-eared copy of Naked Lunch) and now my punishment is a single-sitting marathon of all three Human Centipede movies.  Yeah, those movies.  I think I’ve finally recovered from seeing the first one back in ’09, when Tom Six’s ass-to-mouth nightmare left me, Mr. “Nothing Fazes Me,” genuinely rattled.  That creepy-ass doctor, those silent screams, that feeding scene?  It was like Kafka and Cronenberg had a perversely deformed love child.  The content of the movie was bad enough, but I remember being more disturbed by the mind could conceive of this atrocity.  Now I’m staring down three of these cinematic war crimes, and I’m sweating like a vampire in a tanning booth.  I’ve gotta make a plan – maybe this weekend, maybe with bucket of whiskey and a priest on speed dial.  Send thoughts, prayers, or a time machine so I can un-lose this bet.

In other news, there were an annoying amount of uncalled-for setbacks today.  These days I usually get bad news of things like setbacks and just smirk and say, “Good,” because ultimately the outcome will be good, even though that outcome may take years to happen.  Such is life.  But then, out of the blue, Mgmt calls and cuts a month off our previous established deadline.  In fact, they want this proposal as soon as possible.  I thought I had months, now I have weeks.  Today was not my favorite Monday ever.

N.P.: “Are Friends Electric? (Grey Mix) – Gary Numan