it will be the Kilimanjaro of music, if you understand my metaphor

every young person of our careless generation of saggy pants and disdainful eyebrow piercings dreams of recording the greatest record. so much so that they make chillingly uninteresting records on tape decks and call themselves lacuna coil. whoops.

well I am here to remove all competition with the album that will eclipse all to come before and all to follow: I call it BREAST ATTACK ON FUCK MOUNTAIN. I am two steps ahead of everyone because it already has a name and I have written it out with a calligraphy pen on cardstock and mounted it on my cork board. Get ready to ascend to the peak of fuck mountain, America.

Don’t fuck everything

It used to be that my motto was ‘fuck everything’. I was thinking of getting a plaque saying as much upon which would be embossed a picture of a vampiric Abraham Lincoln flipping me birds with both hands. His long nosferatu fingernails accentuating those middlest of fingers.
Now, however, I am older and wiser than I was when I last chanted this mantra two weeks ago. I am pretty sure the solution to despair isn’t nihilism and scheduling estrangement won’t prevent loneliness. Unfortunately, I haven’t come up with an alternate credo.