Especially in terms of, well, whatever.

So the California adventure is now over. The Wednesday to Monday whirlwind approach was interesting, albeit exhausting. Essentially, everything was scheduled; every day, every hour. I don’t normally live life under such rigid guidelines, not really my style. That being said, I saw all whom I desired to, and did that which I wanted to—it sounds selfish but I don’t really think so.

He was one of the best parts of being back...

So now I’m here, back in the groove of things and working very hard at achieving status as a man of leisure. I’m well on my way. The problem right now is that I’m sitting in a quite boring summer class. I really don’t want to be here, but finances dictate otherwise.

The Meatrix

I’m a night owl.

I’m in the midst of being disciplined. I’m at home on one of my favorite nights of the week to be out. I’m watching one of my favorite movies, Patton, and being generally impressed with myself. Why? I really have no idea.

The last couple of days have been hot as shit and quite entertaining. Yesterday was one of the more interesting in recent memory.

So yesterday started off lazy enough then proceeded to be typically long. Someone had the brilliant idea to go to the beach (see pictures below) which we arrived at just in time to enjoy the last waning moments of sun. New Jersey is an odd place. It is filled with the most unique group of homogenous people. This sentiment was reinforced later in the evening back in the city. I cannot say that prior to yesterday I had ever consumed anything from Applebee’s. That was a good thing. I can say with some certainty that I won’t be eating at Applebee’s again. I recommend that no one else does either. With out going into the specifics of the establishment’s culinary delinquency, the thing I found amusing was the overwhelming amount of staff in the place. I’m not sure what exactly they were doing. I personally witnessed a whole lot of nothing—I believe that is what they were paid to do.

So I was covered with whatever it is that covers you while in repose by the sea by the time I got home. The shower turned out to be an unfortunate incident. I was awake. Being awake I did what I must, I left. The office was empty upon my arrival which was pleasant. The pleasantness was not to last. As an aside, prior to the disruption of people I was pleased to learn that a variation of the worst drink ever was served in a bar.

If memory serves me correct, it was around the New Year when I found myself in the company of good friends and a drink was invented. Needless to say, I vomited instantly—Jägermeister and mayonnaise can do that. I had shared the recipe with my friend the bartender and apparently he committed it to memory. It was served this last week to some high powered partner in a TriBeCa bar. There was a twist though to the original: the addition of some milk and fresh watermelon juice. The gents whom ordered the worst drink imaginable left the bar promptly after ingesting it.

So anyways, the office was quiet for a brief time last night. The quiet was shattered by the most annoying group of inebriated 22 year old girls ever. Trashy people are just trashy. Sometimes social Darwinism fails us. Lucky for me the circus came next. The publishers came next. (I feel like I might be channeling Martin Niemöller at the moment.) When I say the circus came I wasn’t kidding—a host of trapeze artists and puppeteers from Cirque Éloize noisily invaded the place with all kinds of circus talk.

The publishers were amusing since one member of their small entourage kept trying to convince me to let them all come over to my place for pancakes and beverages. Their request was declined Eventually the British woman who was described as an extra from the Harry Potter films realized that I wasn’t into the whole old-haggard chic look she had going on and let me alone. Everyone left. I locked the door, the office quiet again, enjoyed one last beverage, and went home.

So I was in New Jersey the other day...I'll write when I feel like it.

sorry...

If It’s Any Consolation, Your Daughter Probably Died Almost Immediately of Sheer Terror.

By Detective Frank Cosloy

Mr. and Mrs. Frauenfelder? Yes, hello. Thank you for coming down today. I'm Detective Cosloy, one of the eight men here in Tulsa who found the body. The three men in Fort Worth who found the balance of the remains have air-messaged them, so they should be here by this afternoon. I know how difficult this must be for you, and I want to assure you that the department will do all that it can to make this experience—I'm sorry, of course it's... Come this way, won't you? I don't want to draw this out, so if you'd care to identify the remains?

Yes, I'm terribly sorry. The facial structure was lost some due to repeated maceration with a hot iron, and the facial tissue has been... we're interrogating a butterfly-pinner employed at the university. You're certain this is Nan Frauenfelder? I'm so sorry for your loss. If it is any consolation, you should know that your daughter almost certainly died of excruciating terror well before this happened.

Mr. Frauenfelder, while nothing I can say could ever alleviate the grief that you and your wife must be experiencing, please know that we are reasonably sure the drugs your daughter's assailant administered intravenously would have numbed her to any pain the restraints might have caused. Try to take what comfort you can from that.

Oh yes, the restraints were quite... See the ligature marks on your daughter's wrists and ankles, and the two holes punched though each cheek with a leatherworking awl? That's where the restraining wires ran. But please, notice how clean those punctures are, Mrs. Frauenfelder. If Nan were conscious and aware of what was being done to her, she certainly would have struggled, causing tearing of the epidermis at the site of her facial puncture wounds. I can assure you that her heart gave out from panic before these wounds were delivered.

Here, Mr. Frauenfelder, my handkerchief. That's correct, the substance injected into your daughter's ocular ducts was a muscular paralytic as well as a powerful industrial solvent—see where she wept tears of rich arterial blood here?—but contrary to news reports, that wouldn't have kept her alive and cognizant. You see, sheer horror would have overridden the drug and sent her into a coma-like sleep long before rapid cardiac action sprayed her bloody tears 12 feet from the box spring on which she was bound. I assure you of that. You see, your daughter's pulse was well over 200 beats per minute when she began "weeping."

I think it's important that you know that the person who did this to your daughter was a real talker. It fits the sense of stagecraft involved in such dramatic and systematic torture. The relentless, sadistic, hypersexual monologue that probably accompanied your daughter's last moments of life would almost certainly have had a trance-inducing effect, allowing her to escape into a sort of mental cul-de-sac of excruciating fear. After all, we have samples of Nan's blood, taken from her remaining buttock, as well as from the ceiling, the meat hooks, the mirror fragments, the shark darts, and the dentist tools at the scene. The amount of adrenaline in those samples was high enough to burst a human heart in about four minutes. Mr. and Mrs. Frauenfelder, I do not fib when I tell you that overwhelming, soul-destroying fear rendered your daughter unconscious long before those microwave-oven parts bolted to her skull simmered her brain in its own fat.

Oh? Officer Mooney told you she must have been alive at least long enough to eat the half-pound of tissue we recovered from her stomach? Mrs. Frauenfelder, please believe me when I tell you that there was enough electricity coursing through your daughter's panic-riven body to cause a purely reflexive, biogalvanic chewing-and-swallowing action. Neither Nan, nor any 19-year-old girl, would ever have the wherewithal—no matter what the circumstance—to chew and swallow the flesh of her own fingers.

Mr. Frauenfelder, Mrs. Frauenfelder, I have daughters of my own. I can only imagine what you must be feeling. I realize there is nothing I can say to you at this time that will alleviate your loss, but please, do understand that, even if there were any residual brain activity at the moment Nan realized she was strapped to a meat slicer equipped with a high-powered gasoline engine, her actual personality would long have evaporated through the large, ulcerated burns creasing her cerebral cortex. Try to believe that, and take heart.

Stephen Colbert—Senior Scandal Historian—“Slaverygate”

Welcome to June. Dear Diary…today I started summer school and ate a chicken sandwich. Tomorrow, I’ll meet with my landlord and discuss things.

Dear Santa, this today I would like a dog, a woman, some Plymouth’s gin, and $100M. Santa, I promise if you deliver the aforementioned loot I still won’t believe in you but I will leave you cantaloupe wrapped in prosciutto. If, however, you fail to deliver Santa—I promise I’ll hunt you down and pepper you with 1000 Laotian midgets.

Apparently, Nivea soothes the pain of shaving. Commercials rock.