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Name::New York City's Watchdog
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Tuesday, October 03, 2006No Matter How Much I Scratch
So this comment thing is harder than I originally thought. It seems really straightforward... but today... well I got this comment...
I just read your blog about your wife leaving you for another woman.... but I don't know where they left it. Stupid Blogger. Of course it's anonymous... 'cause I'm righteous enough to let people do that. Stupid blogger.
So someone's been archive hunting. It is a relatively nice comment... but at the same time I feel ripped open once again with the 55 gallon drum of salt being poured into the wound. Thanks. Needed that today... really.
What's worse is now I have that itch. I need the smell of the smoke. I need the dog sense to tingle. I need the wail of the siren. I need the streets bathed in red. I need... the rush. My wanton desire for death and destruction has become almost unbearable tonight.
Sometimes I wonder... I wonder if I'll turn. I have the means to stop myself from it. I just need to have the will. I'd be lying if I said I didn't wonder... because I do. I need an apple strudel.
The fact is women kill us. That one killed me, buried me, and pissed on my grave. Only to be brought back to life by another... and killed slowly by her too.
BTW... Denise got it right... this is the grave of The Great Harry Houdini.