Nowhere To Go To But Down, Down, Down, Nothing But The Ground Left For You To Fall To

Dear Supervisor Daly:

Fuck off and die.

Better yet, resign first, then fuck off and die.

Thank you.

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Dave's weight loss plan has hit a major snag as his knees, burdened by a college-age injury and thirty-five years of supporting his ass in all of its failed endeavors, can't take running anymore.

It's been a week since my last run, and my knees ache. Walking to work is painful. Going down the stairs is painful. Life's painful, and I live it, but I can do without chronic knee pain.

Gotta find a back-up plan.

So I'm getting loaded tonight, and my friend (and possible very distant cousin) Kristine mentions to me that:

"Morrissey (not my real name), I saw your Chris Daly video."

"What?!"

"I saw you saying 'Fuck You' to Chris Daly. I was online and I saw it."

"What?!?!"

She then explains that she was on teh Youtube, looking for Whiskey Thieves-related vids, and she saw me hatin' on Chris Daly for one of his many silly smoking ordinances. Friend Rik then chimed in by relating a similar story he had with Friend Armand, where they stumbled upon the same vid and had a chuckle about it.

Here is said video. Dry your panties, ladies:



(BTW -- I have no idea how either Kristine or Rik could have found this video. But hey, my old apartment!)

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Also, I know there are plenty of truly sad things in the world, but: you know when you move out of a place, and you're closing the door for the last time, and you know you won't ever seen it again... is it possible to not be sentimental and wistful?