You just want to hear my story about when they lived next door to me again.
OK, here it is. 15 of them crammed in that little apartment. They stunk the place up something terrible and talked real loud. Most people do. However, they sounded exactly like the beheading videos I used to watch back when I was a lively young fat man.
In those days, before I had anything or realized that light was the bane of my existence, this time of year was spent with a great hunger for graham crackers and to be dead.
Which reminds me, someone also requested the story of how I lost weight. It was Xanax withdrawal. Had to taper off them myself after loathing the zombie I had become on them. Anyhow, I cut them into thirds. Every two weeks, I'd cut another third. 0.5 mg cut.
Each cut made me sicker than hell. I was up all night shaking. Nauseous most of the time. Neck and head hurt badly. It was like getting the shit kicked out of me. Still came to work everyday, but ate very little.
Once I felt good again, I figured I'd go back to my old hogging days. Not so fast. The system could no longer handle that amount of food. Felt like a bowling ball in the gut. Had to cut down. Lost a lot of weight.
There's more, but even my eyes are glazing over. Writing novels sucks as much as reading them.
