Some of your friends are probably already this fucked.

The Dante's Inferno Test has banished you to the Eigth Level of Hell - the Malebolge!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:

Level	Score
Purgatory (Repenting Believers)	Very Low
Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)	Very Low
Level 2 (Lustful)	Very High
Level 3 (Gluttonous)	Low
Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)	Low
Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)	Extreme
Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics)	Very High
Level 7 (Violent)	High
Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)	Extreme
Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous)	Very High

Take the Dante's Divine Comedy Inferno Test

those days are gone

begining in 5 or so days i will go from having three addresses to only one. something about living in lancaster made it seem like it made total sense to move from a house and not change your address. it seemed to float in the air, somewhere between the leftover smog that made the quick journey up the 14 and the oppressive heat. im going to be spending the next 5 or so months learning how to say hella and seeing how corrupt our state politcal system is up close, and hopefully figuring out some sort of truth that will improve my golf game. it will be a nice little break from some things, a painful seperation from others, and hopefully a joyous return, like the prodigal son, but backwards. if i dont see you between now and then, take care, and if i do, you should buy me a drink. keep your fingers crossed and your fist raised high. this year could finally be our year! (or something ridiculously ridiculous like that)

do you want to come over and kill some time?

i have nothing but dirty socks everywhere i look. my teeth want to jump out of my head. my car has decided that overheating in december is the thing to do. most of my thoughts have been revolving on how the indian curse is going to end up keeping me in lancaster. i have at least three official address as i sit here, maybe four, im not a hundered percent sure. i would give anything except for money for this pain in my mouth to go away. maybe there will be an earthquake today. maybe the sky will collapse.

july is gone, like the gasoline it took...

the best way to set up this place, and this blog, and everything that should come out of my head/mouth/chest/foot from this day on is that my head is completely fucked up and i am overly opinionated. my fantasies all involve sinking, failing, drowning, and i am looking for any chance to grab those things by the hair and fucking succed, like the gameshow contestant with the grandfather clock or jesus on the hill with all that fucking bread and fish. im looking for a lot of people who have no problem with me and wish that i never moved away or die. im looking for people to tell me i am full of shit and put me into my place, until their own hypocracy finds them in a run down motel room in DC with a crack pipe in their mouth and a crack whore in their croch. that is what i need, or at least seems to be what i need right now, as i type away and hope that no one is offended except for the guy i know with the anti-authoritative tattoo that is happier than a hippy in shit that he is now "management" and can write people up. i knew you were fucking fake when we talked about the song and the threehundreddollar jacket and everything about you that made me feel like you would sell me out in half a second, but you never got to, cuz you got to luke, and his friends, and now you fucking talk and talk and talk and all i here from your worthless mouth is that you sold one of us out. i move on, i am a better person, here's to a new chunk taken out of the rock, courtesy of myself.