Nothing of Regret (My Name is Ray Mond)

I had just finished eating a coffee cup full of this honey graham cracker cereal. I eat it out of a coffee cup because it keeps the portions down. Gotta watch my frame. My life is REAL SHIT, MOTHERFUCKER! Whatever.

I put the coffee cup with a little puddle of milk still left at the bottom in the sink. Rinse into the cup about three-quarters of the way up and ease up to about a centimeter from overflow. Stop. So the milk that was left in the bottom of the cup floats up to the surface. I'm thinking that the bright white milk settled across the top of the water in a completely unique pattern looks kind of what I imagine the Arctic Ocean is looking like right now...

...and simultaneously reaching for the faucet handle to rain Armageddon on this pristine field of marine ice.

D
A
M
M
I
T
!

!!!!

I pull back off the faucet handle immediately. Torrent stops. Some milky white ice remains!

So then I start to kind of feel sad because the post-apocalypse Arctic-Ocean-in-a-cup just isn't nearly as beautiful as the original, pristine wonder I was allowed but a fleeting glance of...

And then I'm in the garage. Smoking. Again.
There's a ray of light beaming through the garage window. It's chilly in the garage in March, but I'm still shirtless and in my underwear.

I start noticing how the smoke seems to float in the beam of sunlight, wavering back and forth like some sort of intergalactic ocean of gas suspended light years away from the Arctic-Ocean-in-a-Cup and the fact that I am part of several worlds at once makes me happy. So then my dumb ass decides I need to try to capture this moment forever in digital photograph form. I run and get the camera. I'm trying to get the right angle...I take a shot of the beam of light with the smoke floating in it...just doesn't quite capture how my eyes are really seeing it. I try again. Better, but still not quite the same as the real experience. ONE. MORE. TRY....

...MY CAMERA DIES.

Just my luck.

I press on.

Bounce

They let me go in the stratosphere.

All the bastards gave me was a pair of goggles to keep debris out of my eyes as I plummeted to my death. How thoughtful.

They call it "bouncing" in skydiver lingo when a parachute deployment fails, rendering the diver a guaranteed asteroid on a direct course with the cruel earth.

The debris did sting so I closed my eyes for a moment and enjoyed the ride. Then I remembered the goggles. I pulled them over my face to shield my overstimulated eyes. Now I could really enjoy my final ride. God was it fun. I started feeling like it wasn't such a bad way to go after all.

Like every animal though, the "gravity" of the situation began to stir my survival instinct. I desperately struggled to develop a solution to my predicament. As the ground neared I realized I was splatter.

With one last hope I directed all my energy upward and, with only a football field or so between myself and demise, I wrenched my frame and began to soar upward. I think it might be too obvious to relate that this last-second evolution was very welcome.

Fondue Party

Blister winter.

Blustery hell.

Feel like you have talents

that never seem to sell.

Recession-minded responsibility.

Inflation nation,

Melting Pot of cheese.

Fondue, if you will,

dip your meat inside.

The commonality of dining together,

of burning alive.

FUCK SLEEP

SLEEP IS CHEAP,

CHEAPER THAN BEIN' AWAKE.

SLEEP, WHEN DEEP,

BENEFITS MY BRAIN.

SO WHY DO I HATE A CASH-SAVING

REPLENISHING THING?

I GUESS I NEED A SCAPEGOAT TOO.

BETTER SLEEP THAN YOU.