Spring forward? Cutting an hour from the fat off my belly

Jesus. I hate it. The whole thing.

And it doesn’t do what it’s designed to do. Just the opposite. It costs money. Way to fucking go, Ben Franklin, you nasty, womanizing scumbag. (Did you know a scumbag is a used condom? I just gave you so much power. You’re welcome.)

If only we could just fall back every autumn and just keep falling back. Every 24 years we’d end up in the morning again. It’d be fine with me. Life wouldn’t get boring, tell you that much.

This mean I have to be an hour early for work on Monday or else I will be late. This is so cruel I can’t even tell you. I always start drinking so much coffee this time of year my feces smells of caffeine. It’s burnt smell–the same smell that lingers after something has been electrocuted. If you’ve never had the chance to smell it, be glad. Be very glad indeed.

Yo ho ho and a pile of vomit in the middle of the intersection at the end of my street, which I have now seen both a seagull and a crow eating on two separate occasions. Why someone feels the need to let loose right there I do not know. Marking his or her territory, perhaps. This place is just so strange. So very odd.

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