Below is an excerpt from a draft of an ill-fated blog that I never finished the other night. I have no idea what I was writing, and all I remember about it is that my eyes were closed the entire time I was writing it. It is a bad idea to attempt writing while sitting in your warm, comfortable bed. What you are about to read is so bad, it even looks fake. But it is not. It is real. Send your shame c/o Jonathan Pool to my p.o. box. My email's already full.
"and anuyway, i was drunk.. i don't thikn you have any right to sit there, as if you were some sort of hight and mighty magistrate tper of person, in a medieval cour t or something, handing down the fucking charges and penalties as if i were some petty fucking thief that stole a lit candle from the window of some old broad that clearly left a vurning candle, not to mention a sasparilla pie burning right in front of her house in sindow that any passing hungry and night blind person coul've seen, would've seen, and stolen, nay bottoerf lihhy. yhr lihting like i burned the magna carta on arbor day or somethnig, man. lay off bro. that's all i can say,..man.let's take muey sleep nowkkeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeiphooo
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooh
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhioo--"
Someone kill me.
