She dreams about the apocalypse so much that I learned to spell apocalypse. She woke up in a sweat before the sun came up and wrote me to tell me I was trapped in a collapsed building and we were able to talk on the phone and she was going to find me and pass crusts of bread through the dusty rubble. So September 11thish so close to September 11th. But this is how you know dreams are bullshit and none of this is real. AT&T sucks now so it sure as fuck is not working during the apocalypse. Those fuckers are a sign of the apocalypse. One of the horsemen is their CEO, no lie.

I boxed for the first time, something I have wanted to do my whole life. Knocked the heavy bag off its chain and almost passed out after the pushup-situp-kettle bell circuit. Serious. They brought me a sports drink and some bananas. I really thought I was going to pass out like a bitch. Punching shit is great. Bad intentions.

On the platform waiting for the train the other day, these two gay dudes were enjoying themselves. Doing little dance moves. Smiling. Laughing. Talking. I was listening to music but I heard someone say very loudly, as he and his friends entered my peripheral vision, "Flamin'! Flame! Flame on!" I didn't quite understand what was happening until they had walked past and I checked his little crew out and they were no less a stereotype, just a different kind: baseball caps turned backways, saggy jeans, big fake watches, and stupid struts. The gay guys looked back at them and I do not want to presume to know what they were feeling but they seemed hurt. Made me sad and angry. Even though I know this kind of thing still exists, it is always jarring to witness it because I never do. And then it becomes even harder for me to not allow what those assholes did to reinforce the stereotype they are perpetuating. How gay is that?

It is The End of Days apocalypse for summer dresses and even though the sun swears that season has passed, these women want to show off the goods one last time again for the last time again until tomorrow and the next day. No bras even. One sat next to me on the train and she had nice tits and smelled nice but her chin was shiny and fuck that shit and when will the autocorrect on my phone realize I really am typing shit and not shot nor shut? Fuck Apple, too. They are slipping. (Still better than PCs and those other gay phones.)

Black Keys song.

Ty B was in blog-tit heaven a few years back. Pics so good I know he jacked off to them because I sure did. Now everyone is on a social networking sight I hate. Cleaned up their acts. Reminiscing about the Internet five years ago is like how hippies from the free-love '60s must have felt in the Reagan '80s.

This child on the train said to another child: "You can have my Booty after you wash your hands." Kids these days.