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7-05-2007
At some point, I became the butt of the joke. A greasy, bloated gargoyle of a man, spreading in every direction, losing hair at an alarming rate. Fates worse than death come to mind. Sinking into some mediocre life is one of them. I should buy a house in the suburbs-- an unassuming, half-hearted home, distinguished from the others only by rose bushes butting up against the walkway, which is an obscene amount of personality. On Monday, I'll be 26 years old.
How do I cope with the impending nightmare? Well, for one, I bought a DS and both Phoenix Wright games. Caffeine helps, too, but this town only has Starbucks. Ah, well. I'm way too late getting started writing for today, so I'd better get to it.
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