stir

good god, my head hurts. I wish I could blame no smokes or coffee, but I know this one is squarely on stress and fatigue. No money from my squirrelwrites storefront - screw all of you! You know what? Simply, I need to get out of prison. When I was a child, I used to dream of being an astronaut, or a shadow - and now, 2 years later, as I enter my golden years, I still wish I were something I am not. Anything but me, here, in this piss-hole. Damn you FCC! To hell with jimmy! Go to hell mrs. squirrel! All of you can smoke my turds, because when I get out, and I'm gonna get out, and when I do, I am coming for all of you, one at a time, each one gets squirrel justice dispensed on you - plop, plop. here i