More dreams...

Between tossing, turning, and cats throwing up (or fighting underneath the house), last night was "Violent TV Shows" in dreamland.

There was something trivial with sharks, but the big one was one of those hourlong, tense, gritty, made-for-TV movies about a young woman [frankly, it looked like verticalface, and might as well have been] and her asshole ex, who was stalking her. He finally broke into her apartment in a Shining-like doorway scene, whereupon she promptly shoved a big fucking knife into his midsection, and bolted around the apartment, with him staggering after, a barbecue fork in hand. Using some sort of Jedi Mind Trick or other psychic power, she made him drop that, pull a short, hooed, many-holed, multi-fingered knife that looked like something out of one of those survival catalogs from his pants pocket, and jam it into his right eye as he bent backwards over her electric range (the kitchen looked a lot like K's old place in Buffalo).

Wilmaaaaaaa!

When they're saying shit like "lowest barometric pressure ever recorded" and "doubled windspeed in 24 hours," even my stubborn ass gets nervous.

http://news.yahoo.com/s/nm/20051019/ts_nm/weather_wilma_dc

That sucker wanders north, and we're out of here. Cats, computers, and irreplacable shit goes into the cars, and we haul ass for Atlanta.

Today: Fired

Due to multifarious shitfuckery, today is not merely fired, but like an unseated middle eastern despot, is going to be taken out, shot, burned, dismembered, and dragged through the streets.

Fuck this. I've had it. I quit.[1]

I'll be in the pointless area, throwing plywood around, which has nothing whatsoever to do with storm prep.








[1] For the slow people reading, this does not equate to my tendering my resignation to BRC3