Last night I wrote a song about having sex...underground. Literally under the earth. I think my skills as a song writer need a bit of work.

I think bryan's getting a hammer.

Bryan: Are you unhappy that you spent the night?
Matt: No.
Bryan: Good, because I'm slowly falling in love with you.
Matt: No you aren't.
Bryan: Yes I am, you'll see when I rape you.

Spent the night with a seedy bunch of rapscallions meandering about Hillcrest. Fascinating place, especially the tatoo parlor that was willing to answer our questions, being mostly about genital piercings and the displayed pattern of two she-devils going down on each other. Sitting now in Bryan's room waiting for him to curteously wake the hell up so we can go to Science Olympiad and I can undo the turmoil he caused last time; he signed me up for a genetics event that requires hard knowledge of...well...genetics. Hard knowledge which I don't have and don't have the tenacity to attain. Oop...wait..he just rolled over and made a snorting/farty sound at me. No...no, no luck. Next comes the systematic beating with a copy of Big Mama's House I found in his room.

On a separate note.

School is implementing a "stuffed animal drive" for "lonely elderly people." "so they can have a companion for when they have no one to talk to." I cannot think of anything more patronizing or offensive as saying "Oh, well we don't care enough to ACTUALLY keep you company or lend a hand, so here's this inanimate, much drooled-upon rag for you to clutch in your senility." They're old. They're not fucking children and they certainly aren't stupid. If you want to help, volunteer at a nursing home.