Friday, November 21, 2003

So I am officially back on a semi-regular sleep schedule; five hours a night being the minimum I'm striving for, tempering that with corpse-like periods of unconsciousness on the weekends. Work load has slowed to a bearable weight, this week reserved for getting everything packed away before I piss off to upstate New York for the holiday and eat and drink myself into a coma in front of the fireplace.
The weeks after will be concentrated on mainly non-journalistic endeavors: the yet un-solidified screenplay deal, the comic project pitch that needs a dedicated artist (artists are lazy bastards, all they want to draw is tits and robots and dinosaurs) and the novel in progress that needs to be dusted off and seriously stripped of its gangrenous components. If I get around to it, I'll try to do a week of short stories that I'll post here- all no more than 1000 words, each in a different genre. We'll see.
Journalistically, well, fuck journalism. The business is swollen like a blood filled blister. I have pitches to work on for the science section of the Tribune Sunday Magazine, and shit to research for a piece on the politics of the American public school system. And now I'm off to interview mongoloids on the street because we like to pretend that we give a prolapsed duck's asshole about what subliterate rattlebrains are thankful for.
And yeah, I know the links section is fucked. I'll get to it when I get to it.
Go do something constructive.

Wednesday, November 19, 2003

Pope John Paul II greets his unholy master, masturbates kitten with dust buster.

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