Thirteen is My Lucky Number


Jason got it right.

If any reader should dare choose to pass by, in this corner of the blogosphere comparable to some deep, frozen corner of space devoid of visible matter, then let it be known that a dark pinprick of energy has come into being at this very moment, at this very location.

My brief foray into an independent (meaning paid-for) blogsite and domain has crystallized into a dull, worthless lump of coal (failed precursors of diamonds), and so I slink back into the world of freetard blogging with my reptilian tail between my scaly legs.

I will spend my fruitless afternoon digging up old backups and hoping none of my blog posts, with a material worth of a handful of egg-sized blood red rubies, have escaped the backup coop.

I missed word-vomiting. Maybe 2013 will augur better fortune, a job that panders to my petrified, obese laziness, and all the time in the world to stare in front of a phosphor screen, feeding my miserable self-hate with the unearthly beauty of DIY on Pinterest. The only reprieve shall be to leave my couch for a rare foray into the brick-and-mortar reality made real by Instagram duck face.

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