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April 6, 2007
Puppies. French fries. Flannel pajamas. Fluffy socks. Eggplant parmigiana -- veganism be fucking damned, I want mozzarella, and full-fat at that. Lifetime movies by the truckload -- babysitters seducing attractive homicidal dads, cheerleaders becoming prostitutes, anorexics a-gogo -- the more implausible and poorly acted the better. Anything to anesthesize. Anything. Everything. This, because I cannot pry open my head and scoop out my brain with a grapefruit spoon.

That, or tearing through the desert in a straightjacket (white linen, please), bellowing a la cousin Gundarva and his primal scream therapy. Running so fast I leave no prints in the sand.