So hey the quaint little Main Street café slash bar where I'd normally be drinking some hazy india pale ale and writing a super juicy blog post about relationship advice right about now closed early to host a goddamn baby shower can you fuckin believe it? Those bastards really got a lot of nerve don't they, pocketing what I imagine is probably several hundred dollars for a private party and telling me to take my maybe fifteen or twenty and fuck right off to some other establishment. I don't think I'll be recovering from this theoretical slap in the face for a long time, and definitely not before that quaint little café slash bar is theoretically reduced to a smoking rubblous pile of broken boards and bricks and bones sometime tonight if it turns out that I end up coming back with a can of gas and the blowtorch I use to light my cigars just like every other self-respecting mountain man out here in these parts lights his cigars. Hey are you even listening to me? Are you fuckin high again dude? Great. Just great. Here I am trying to work my way through some pretty serious trauma and you're just sitting there in a daze staring off at the fuckin sunset like you've never seen the sky catch those kinds of colors before but you and me both know you totally have like at least several hundred fuckin times if not more. Oh yeah? Well in that case you can fuck right off too. I didn't ask for your opinion just your attention you asshole. The fuck did you just say? Oh sure. Whatever man. Yeah I'm outta here. Fuck you.
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Dear Diary: The chipmunk I recently befriended and have spent not an insignificant amount of time confiding in has just today left me deserted and bereft of companionship and I am quite simply at a loss for words to express how I feel about all this. Well not completely at a loss of course because otherwise I wouldn't be writing these ones. But you know what I mean. You're the only one who's always listened to me anyway, I don't know what the fuck I was thinking talking to a fuckin chipmunk all that time. His name was Chapman. Chapman the Chipmunk. What? Yeah I know it sounds cheesy but don't look at me, I'm not the one who gave Chapman the Chipmunk that cheesy fuckin name. But that's beside the point anyway. The point is I thought Chapman the Chipmunk was there for me and then one day Chapman the Chipmunk just fuckin wasn't. Figures doesn't it? Every single chipmunk I've ever opened up to in my entire life ends up screwing me over like this. It makes me want to never open up to another chipmunk ever again. I can't take it anymore. I feel like going off and doing something really violent you know? Like I think I want to go set something on fire. Yeah I want to go burn something right down to the fuckin ground. Yeah hey where'd I put that blowtorch, the one I use to light my cigars? Yeah gimme that. And I know I've got a can of gas around here somewhere. Yeah there it is good deal. Cool c'mon now we're going back down into town for to raise some hell you and me both. What? No I'm fine to drive shut the fuck up what're you talking about? I didn't ask for your opinion just your attention you asshole. Christ what is it with everyone today? Can't a guy just have some peace and quiet and a quaint little Main Street café slash bar to drink ale and write a blog post at once in a—holy fuckin shit, look at that sunset! Goddamn, have you ever seen the sky catch those kinds of colors before?
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4-30-22. Confidance [ kon-FI-duhns ] noun; the state of confiding in someone or something, esp. with respect to chipmunks.
