About me:

Prone to robbing the convenience store to raise rent money, or beer money, or to get you out of jail. Write my number on your leg with a sharpie, then write "lawyer" next to it, that way they'll still call me even if you're drunk and they've taser'd your ass so bad you can't speak.

The entire vegetable drawer of my refrigerator is filled with guns. Quality guns, if you discount the layer of Wal-Mart guns on top. Take the Wal-Mart Raven .25 caliber. That’s a gun that says “I dislike you, but didn’t want to spend more than $39.95 on shooting you.” A gun you’d use on somebody if you couldn’t quite recall their name, or remember why you’re mad at them.

I have hobbies. They include “sending pizza to Fatty McButterPants, the fictitious resident of local nursing homes” and “cutting my neighbor’s garden hose a foot shorter every night”. Further among my interests, you can list pyramid schemes, home invasion, and trying to pay my cable bill at the check cashing place with Chuck E Cheese tokens. Also finding Jesus after waking up on the floor of a strange motel room after my many failed suicide attempts. My great-grandfather attempted suicide by swallowing dozens of pennies. Seriously, I didn’t make that one up. The pennies didn’t kill him. They just made him irritable for another 20 years. My ancestors are freaks.

Where was I? Right. Telling you about how I send out faux pizza orders and then laugh like a prehistoric flying beast. That has really brought my life into focus. Once you have a fleet of Domino’s drivers after your ass, little else matters. These are not people you want to get riled up. They already drive erratically with headlights off and all their turn signals blinking simultaneously, shouting lyrics to the wrong Metallica song, and smell like menthols and their own urine.