My darling chicklets, troche I spent the weekend recovering from Fuck You Friday. That was a lot of fucking you! And you were there. And you. Oh, medicine you really had it coming.
Monday was an epic debacle, from the moment of waking to never really falling asleep last night. I covered a lot of ground, ranging from providing an embarrassingly lackluster answer to a group of Brazilian financiers to failing to kill or at least maim someone who honestly deserved it.
After determining there really is no easy way to get on the roof of 75 State and fling myself off, I had the presence of mind to retreat to my shame cave (has free wifi) and have a sandwich. It seems 90% of my problems turn out to resolve to Actually Just Hungry. The other 10%? I was born this way.
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