DAY TWENTY-FIVE

What's my motherfucking problem? Earlier in the week, I was presented with an opportunity to go up north for the weekend, and all week I said: no, no, no, no, no. That is, until 11:00 p.m. last night. Due to the change in plans, I was scrambling about my shoebox at 6:00 a.m. this morning crying about not having clean underwear and flailing myself around the room like I'm the star of apocalypse now. The star of apocalypse now in pajama pants.

Whatever.

I bet you didn't know my laundered garments were the linchpins of to the fucking universe, did you? Ah, you simple minded fools!