1. Wednesday, November 19, 2003

    dear God, 

    dear america, dear raymi, dear world, dear mom, dear paul westerberg, dear angus young, dear safe sex, dear giselle, dear flagrant, dear chick on the bus who offered me a puff of weed, dear inventors of wifi, dear glamour girl who’s going to come over here and fuck my brains out,

    please help me.

    everything is so fubar right now that i dont even know which way is up.

    how is it that michael jackson is wanted as of press time, and rush limbaugh who is accused of being a primary player in a huge drug ring and who today is being accused of money-laundering isnt wanted?

    how is it that larry king gets to be on tv every night and today had dr. phil of all people parade out all the ghouls of television-past including a droopy-chested liza minelli for his 70th birthday, and yet nobody is interested in getting twin peaks back on the air.

    im tired.

    im tired of this grind and anti feels it too and karisa feels it and i could seriously use a new weezer album.

    they dont have to tour if they dont wanna.

    just an ep if thats all you got.

    its eleven pm and im out.

    if the girl calls me again at two a.m. im going to have to refuse those long legs.

    thats how tired i am of all of this.

    fuck the o.c.

    fuck the d.a.

    fuck the e.i.b.

    im reading the kurt kobain book that my bro ken is loaning me and you know what

    some nights like this i really wish i was


    anti + jaime + the cosby sweater