Friday, December 20, 2013

At the Request of Ms. Moon, Who Is Always and Forever My Idol

Grandma Peg and the Humbel Nativity 

My Grandma Peg LOVED Christmas. LOVED IT. She was nearly giddy with the glee of the damn season (SB calls it the Season of Darkness, so obviously my ass did not take after her. Also, Grandma had really big boobs, and I didn't get those either.).

Anyhoo, Peg loved Hummel figurines, which she called, Humbels, due to a slight hearing problem. (Yeah, and Elvis was Alvin Prescott, as you'll possibly fucking remember from an earlier post, but whatever. . .).

Grandma's ass splurged one year and bought herself the ENTIRE fucking Humbel Nativity. That shit was quite costly, as there is no accounting for taste, and Precious Moments figures were expensive once, too, right? Hummels and the Precious Moments make SB want to gag and bust them up WITH A FUCKING HAMMER, but again, I digress.

Before I go further, I should explain that my tiny southern grandmother was known for her eccentric decorating taste (she even wallpapered the backs of doors), and frankly, she had some fucking weird ideas about what went together. Also, a lot of her house looked like a fucking French whore house, but to her, that was GRAND DECOR, motherfuckers. That shit was posh.

Anyhoo, after purchasing the damn nativity, Grandma decided that her precious fucking manger was not showy enough and that the Baby Jesus should be spotlighted like a Barrymore in a play. After all, his infantile ass was supposed to be holy and worshipped by the animals and the damn Wise Men. He was THE POINT. He was THE STAR.

Grandma rigged a fucking Maglite to the roof of the manger, and SB's brother, Steve, would not stop making remarks and laughing about it. "Jesus Christ, Grandma, the Baby Jesus is going to be blind. How will he perform miracles WHEN HE'S BLIND?"

After that, undaunted by my brother's mirth, Grandma decided that the Humbel nativity didn't come with enough lowing beasts, so she bought some ill-sized cheap porcelain add-on animal figures that looked like they might eat the poor blinded Baby Jesus and worshipping Wise Men.

Well, of course, Peg thought that shit was JUST GREAT! Her manger would be the envy of the neighbourhood! She was SO PROUD of that cocksucking nativity, it was unbelievable. It had pride of place in the living room.

Note: My Aunt M. has the infamous nativity now and displays it every year, replete with the damn Maglite, which my brother still has to make rude comments about.

Friday, December 13, 2013

An URGENT E-mail Discussion with Ms. Moon

[Note: Start from the bottom and read up, bitches!]

David Foster Wallace let his dogs eat out of his mouth. I draw the line there. Ginger eats her own shit. Lately she’s in to eating her frozen turds in the snow. Do you suppose it’s similar to putting Milky Ways in the freezer—I mean in a dog sort of way?

From: Ms. Moon
Sent: Friday, December 13, 2013 9:33 AM
Subject: Re: Lordy, you are all are cold this morning.

Thanks for the heads-up. (haha!)

-----Original Message-----
From: ugadawg1
To: Ms. Moon
Sent: Fri, Dec 13, 2013 9:30 am
Subject: Re: Lordy, you are all are cold this morning.

I’m sort of with him on that. I love Reddi Whip--straight out of the damn nozzle. The cats dig it too. I let them lick the nozzle and then serve Reddi Whip to unsuspecting guests. It amuses me because I think cats are really clean (despite licking their asses), and I eat after them myself.

Friday, November 22, 2013

Our species is disgusting. I am so sickened. May Radoslaw Czerkawski rot in hell, the sorry sick fuck.

Sweet natured: Despite having broken bones, crushed vertebrae and other injuries, the pit bull was friendly.

This poor little girl still liked human beings after her horrific injuries. It just astounds me. I'd like to get put in a room with this son-of-a-bitch, just me and a him and a baseball bat.

Please sign the petition at this link to call for harsh punishment for the evil fuck:

"The two-year-old pooch reportedly was stabbed in the eye, burned, had her limbs pulled from the joints and had her tongue sliced in half like a serpent. It was described as 'medieval' torture." 

Thursday, November 21, 2013

The world WON'T listen, a letter from Morrissey.

                   A pig with a lion.                            
18 November 2013
The world won't listen
I am not ashamed to admit that newspaper photographs in recent days of American TV presenter Melissa Bachman laughing as she stands over a majestic lion that had been stalked and shot dead by Bachman herself left me tearful. Although I have previously felt enraged by the asininity of U.S. congressman Paul Ryan, and political fluffhead Sarah Palin - both of whom also kill beings for fun, there is something especially lamentable about the Bachman smile of pride as the lion - a symbol of strength, heraldry and natural beauty, lies lifeless in answer to Bachman's need for temporary amusement. The world struggles to protect the rhino and the elephant - both being shot out of existence, yet Bachman joins the murderous insanity of destruction without any fear of arrest. This comes in the same week that Princess Anne condones horsemeat consumption - since she is evidently not content with eating pigs, sheep, cows, birds and fish. Although her slackwitted view is reported with mild surprise by the British media, there is no outrage since the crassness and international duncery of the British so-called 'royal family' remains the great unsaid in British print. It is spoken of, of course, but it is not allowed to go further than that. Why does Anne approve of slaughter of any kind? Has she ever been inside an abattoir? Does she actually know what she's talking about? Similarly, on October 5, the Daily Mail newspaper gave us all an "amusing" report of thickwit Pippa Middleton laughing as she stood over 50 birds shot dead by her friends and herself after a "busy day's shooting". We are reminded by the Daily Mail that Middleton is a 'socialite', which tells us that she is privileged and can more-or-less kill whatever she likes - and, therefore she does. The sick face of modern Britain, Pippa Middleton will kill deer, boar, birds - any animal struggling to live, or that gets in her socialite way. This is because her sister is, of course, Kate, who herself became 'royal' simply by answering the telephone at the right time, and this association allows Pippa's kill, kill, kill mentality to be smilingly endorsed by the British print media, to which only the mentally deficient could join in with the laughter. The right to kill animals is endorsed by Prime Minister David Cameron who shoots stag whenever he feels a bit bored. In the Queen's Honors List, awards have been bestowed upon musicians Bryan Ferry and PJ Harvey - both of whom allegedly support fox-hunting. There is not one single instance when an animal protectionist has found themselves knighted or applauded by the Queen. That animals are an essential part of our planet (that they are, in fact, the planet) and must be protected, is a shatterbrained concept to the British 'royals'. Historically, we all remember Prince William proudly killing the baby deer, Prince Harry bravely giving the thumbs-up as he pointlessly ended the life of a water-buffalo, the Queen loading her shotgun in readiness to shoot birds out of the sky. How terribly regal.
Although the natural idiocy of the British 'royals' is internationally acknowledged, it still doesn't make their behavior any less alarming.
Animals who are free (or, if you insist, 'wild') lead lives of struggle; their every moment absorbed by the need to find food for themselves and their offspring. They have a natural instinct to survive - as do animals in abattoirs, but they cannot compete against the loaded hunting-guns of Pippa Middleton or David Cameron. It is by no means a fair game. Has Melissa Bachman considered hunting without a shotgun? We might then be impressed if she manages to bring a lion down. Dingbat coward Sarah Palin shoots at running bears from the safety of her multi-million-dollar helicopter, and the Queen continues to endorse the trapping of the Canadian brown bear so that her senior servile guardsmen might look their prettiest. The babies of the trapped and murdered adult bears are left to die slowly - unable to survive without their mothers. Wearing enough real fur to encircle Russia, our beloved Queen Elizabeth couldn't care less. Death dwells in life.
In lordly London, a proudly moral statue stands on Park Lane. It honors animals that "served" during the war, boldly telling us They Had No Choice.
There is no statue that states: ANIMALS IN ABATTOIRS - THEY HAVE NO CHOICE.
The homicidal mania of the abattoir, the murderous insanity of the badger kill ('cull' is far too soft a word for what takes place - not in order to protect cows – who are butchered, anyway, but in order to make more money for farmers); and from this, we wonder how the human race can make any claims of humanity. We must ask why it is thought that animals deserve such horrific treatment. No British government has ever had an Animal Protectionist MP, yet animals outnumber humans on the planet. It is quite easy, I'll admit, to blame the mentally defective 'royals' for continually setting such a cretinous example where animal welfare is concerned; we recall William and Kate in Canada laughing hysterically as a bull, whose abdomen has been cinched with a bucking strap, is jumping in agony before the stiffly-apart-together lovely 'royal' couple - who are both clapping excitedly. Where is humanity? Where is any sense of goodness and pity? And what is so terribly funny about torture?
The nub of this argument is the press insistence that the 'royals' are in possession of a morality that the rest of us would all wish to rise to, and that they are also a form of church for the British people. No, no, no. Not true.
We are continually told (warned?) that we love the 'royals' whatever their conduct, and we see very clearly how this most dysfunctional family must - at all costs - leave a virtuous emblem on the age, as we also see how no British citizens (for we are not subjects) can be considered qualified enough to question the 'royals' - or to even be allowed to ask why it is thought necessary to have a monarchy in the first place - especially as most countries throughout the world exist quite well without royal boils. Although the cash-cow subject of tourism is frequently raised in order to support the annual 50m grabbed from public taxes in order to lavish on the 'royals', it should be noted that people do not refuse to visit the Eiffel Tower simply because there is no Queen of France.
The mystery in England is why the 'royals' are repeatedly forced upon us with a cleansed aura - one that is not theirs by nature. We are asked to feel round-the-clock concern for the failing health of Prince Philip, yet his offhand civility is all we've ever known of him, and since his life has meant nothing to the British people then why should his approaching death? Although the press is continually conscious of pushing any story too far, there is mysteriously no suspicion of utterly sterile boredom where 'royal news' (i.e, non-news) is concerned. Nothing in the bearing of the Queen speaks to, or for, modern Britain. Speech is a question of rhythm, and even this the Queen has failed to master in her very lengthy lifetime of being unable to address a nation without auto-cue. Is she incapable of speaking directly from the heart? That the future of the monarchy rests on the natural idiocy of Harry, zombified William and airhead Kate, is quite frightening. We, the British public, are trapped.
In our democratic society, how do we call for the 'royals' to resign and retire? Where is our platform? Who will let us speak? We, who are neither apocalyptic anarchists nor extremists, who speak softly and care primarily for the environment and all living beings, feel embarrassed by what the 'royals' do today far more than whatever they did 200 years ago. But how can we speak without being Tasered away? In an England that is said to be democratic, how can a self-elected monarchy have any place? It can't. If the 'royals' are a dictatorship - which they obviously are - then how can England be democratic? When the British public booed Charles and Camel off Regent Street, the British police were ready to turn the tanks onto the very people who are forced to pay for the 'royals'' upkeep. How is this democracy? Evidently, with visions of rising People Power in the Middle East, the British establishment must be terrified that such an awakening might take place against them.
The media, quite naturally, are always ready to report on 'anti-royal extremists', yet I have never once heard the term 'pro-royal extremists'. Evidently someone is only extreme if you don't happen to like their clothes.
People in power never give up power. Look at Assad - if you must; his dingbat wife continuing to smile and wave, wrapped in Fendi, as the people of Syria disappear into dust. It is the same shame that the British utilized whilst claiming ownership of the Malvinas by shooting anyone who stood in their way. How very brave. Imagine if Taiwan claimed the Isle of Wight. Yes, it is that silly. The Queen is conveniently said to have no political power, yet it would be impossible to imagine her government disagreeing with her if she elected to return the Malvinas to the Argentinian people, and although David Cameron is gung-ho ready to see more British and Argentinian boys die in battle for this odd bit of turf, he cannot see the richer intellect in simply returning the islands to their rightful owners. Yet Cameron is haughtily aghast when people run riot on the streets of Coventry stealing hair-dryers worth ten pounds. Outrage!
What is never considered is how the occupants of the Malvinas (who want to bask in the south seas whilst also having the benefit of the NHS, and who number only about 2,500) are quite satisfied to sit back and watch service personnel die defending their post box. Has such selfishness ever been known? What makes it all worth it?
Thank you to Russell Brand for standing up and speaking out in recent weeks. Like anyone who speaks out in modern Britain, he has been shot down. Nothing must interfere with the depressive psychosis of modern Britain, which has become a most violent and melancholic country, with no space for measured debate. Like Russell, I believe that the most powerful vote you can give is No Vote; for the days of Prime Ministers have gone, and it's time for a form of change that is far more meaningful than simply switching blue to red. The print media will only support people who do not matter and who are incapable of instigating thought - David 'rent-a-smile' Beckham; his wife - famous for having nothing to do; the dum dum dummies of the Katie Price set; the overweight Jamie 'Orrible, who tells us all how to eat correctly.
At what point did the dis-United Kingdom become a cabbagehead nation? Where is the rich intellect of debate? Where is our Maya Angelou, our James Baldwin, our Allen Ginsberg, our Anthony Burgess, our political and social reformers? At what point did the shatterbrained scatterbrains take over - with all leading British politicians suddenly looking like extras from Brideshead Revisited? Although it is clear to assess the Addams Family of SW1X as the utterly useless and embarrassing ambassadors of a sinking England, how can we effect change without being tear-gassed? In the absence of democracy, there is no way.
I write this without outburst; a staunch non-terrorist, quietly, calmly and composedly, as I mourn the loss of the land.

Thursday, November 7, 2013

Stupid Motherfuckers

The old, short, fat (round as he is tall), LOUD, obnoxious, ex-marine who works here is on the phone a few cubes over bitching to some poor under-paid slob at McDonald’s about stopping to get a sausage biscuit sandwich and a diet Coke (laugh), and since he is diabetic, IT IS VERY SERIOUS that they keep giving him regular Coke in error. The poor McDonald’s employee tried to make it right, and fat marine guy said—“No, there are other McDonald’s around. You have just lost a customer.” (What a burn.) So what is the point of calling—just to make some poor shittily-paid slob’s day even shittier? WHY THE FUCK IS HE EATING AT MCDONALD’S AT ALL IF HE IS DIABETIC? MAYBE THAT’S WHY THE MOTHERFUCKER IS DIABETIC??? Americans are so fucking stupid. It makes me want to throw the fuck up. And he also told the poor slob worker that he is a regular customer and comes through the drive-thru there almost everyday. GET A FUCKING CLUE STUPID MOTHERFUCKER. Jesus.

Tuesday, October 29, 2013

Our Team Took a Heavy Hit

I loved Lou very much. He is irreplaceable, and he wrote my favorite song of all time, "Sweet Jane." I cried over my coffee this morning. God speed, Lou. And Laurie, I am thinking of you. You do not grieve alone.

Life is just to die.

Wednesday, September 25, 2013

Do you suppose W. force-cuddles this poor fucker?

It would have been luckier for the cat if he had died. W. killed thousands of soldiers, but he saved a cat. Neato. All is forgiven now.

Also, please note that the cat does not look happy in the photo. And I should know from cats. All you cat lovers out there pray for this poor sonofabitch. W. probably named it Bob because he could actually spell that shit. 

Tuesday, August 13, 2013

A reply to one of my best goddamn friends in the world, Ms. Moon

[About the tendency of older Ohioans to sit in their garages, rather than the porch.]

That’s because southerners have some damn sense. Porches are designed for sitting on, enjoying the breeze (or not), and visiting with neighbors. Fucking idiot mid-westerners sit in the DAMN NO-BREEZE fucking garage. Mid-westerners are idiots.

Thursday, June 27, 2013

Paula Deen Has Apologized, Now Let's Move the Fuck On

When I was growing up, my poor overwrought mother taught me that when you did something wrong, you couldn't always apologize and fix it, but that sometimes apologizing is the best and only thing you can do in light of a grievous error. You might still be in the wrong for having committed the error, but even if you couldn't make it right or take it back, you needed to at least humbly say you were sorry.

Paula Deen has apologized and admitted that using the N-word was ignorant and wrong. Now, can we all just move the fuck on and let it rest? If you are still mad and don't want to watch Paula on QVC or buy any of her shit at fucking Walmart, then fine. Don't. But maybe, just maybe, that says more about your unforgiving ass than it does about Paula.

And also, I think it's only fair to mention, that old girl who started all this bullshit with her gold-digging lawsuit, worked for Paula and Bubba for FIVE years. Clearly, her dumb ass REALLY suffered from all the racist comments she was subjected to. A bitch was lapping the money up for FIVE FUCKING YEARS. You've got to admire her loyalty.

I have to say that part of my family is southern, and even my sweet old Grandma Peg, who was raised by a black woman that she loved, and who wouldn't harm a damn fly, was racist at times. I'm not saying it's right, I'm just being honest and saying that's how it was. And before everybody from the south gets all worked up, I am NOT saying all southerners are racists. I know many, many who are not. Not one damn bit.

And my dear Paula, if you happen to read this, e-mail me. I'll be your publicist, and I'll do a damn sight better job handling your affairs, for a lot less money. This whole situation should have been strongly and emphatically addressed a damn sight quicker. And, by the way, Paula, SB still loves you and thinks you're a good old gal. Fuck the haters. Haters gonna hate. That's their nature.

Tuesday, June 25, 2013

The bad painter here in the office is at it again.

He just brought in his latest work. It is some sort of bright orange Tyrannosaurus fucking Rex. I shit you not. As if it could be any worse, it’s on a bright periwinkle blue background. Jesus fucking H. I take one look at his artwork and I long for death.

Religious Shit SB Says to Ms. Moon

That’s what faith is, I guess. Believing in something retarded despite the empirical evidence.

Friday, June 7, 2013

Mean Shit SB Says to Her Idol of Greatness, Ms. Moon

One of the skinny young guys in here brought in donuts this morning. I just heard this lady I work with say, “I quit smoking last year and ballooned up.” And she really did get fat inordinately quickly. All of this went down as her fat ass reached for a damn donut. This lady has a daughter getting married next year, and she told donut-bringer-guy: “I refuse to be a fat mother of the bride.” If a bitch keeps helping her fat ass to the damn donuts, she ain’t gonna get any skinnier.

Friday, May 17, 2013

Shit SB Says

Blogging is dead. And all of us who still blog are just fucking a dead corpse. And that's fine by me actually.

An Original Poem Entitled "Fog" by SB

[I had a little help from Carl Sandburg on this shit. Credit where credit's due.]


The damn fog comes
on little cat feets.

A bitch parks its fat ass
over harbor and hood
and then a motherfucker
fucks silently off.

On this blog the celebration of SAME SEX LOVE is allowed.

Here is a delightful picture of George Michaels and his man friend, Fadi Fawaz, holding hands. It warms my heart, and if you don't like it, piss off back to your republican convention.

Hold on tight: George Michael was snapped walking hand in hand with his boyfriend Fadi Fawaz in Sydney, Australia

I am glad to see my posts on porn stars still get so many hits.

I know you sick fucks only stop by to try and get your perve on. THANKS! It's about the only thing that keeps my blog stats alive these days. I'm not too proud, bitches! And you're not either, so fuck you for being holier than fucking thou, motherfuckers.


OK, my ass knows it's George Michael, but I had a friend who used to say George Michaels and it stuck. Anyhoo, SB's beloved George was involved in a motorway accident yesterday, and you all know how upset I got when he was in jail (a bitch hosted GEORGE MICHAELS JAIL WATCH, and I didn't sleep well til his ass was out of the slam), so I just wanted to wish George well and give him a shout out. We are all THRILLED AS PISS that ONCE AGAIN George has evaded that cold and cunning bastard, Death.

The Moms and I were fans clear back when I was in high school and George was whamming it up and CHOOSING LIFE.

I am George's NUMBER 1 AMERICAN FAN, and I defy any of you motherfuckers to say it ain't so!

More info on the heart-stopping (for SB) incident can be found here:

Thank you Daily Mail (even though George Michaels probably HATES you for tabloiding him all the time) for keeping George's NUMBER 1 AMERICAN FAN up to date on George's life events.

I'm actually considering turning this into THE GEORGE MICHAELS NUMBER 1 AMERICAN FAN blog or a Cat Lovers blog. I can't decide. You can leave your opinion in the comments section, however, I probably won't take it into account. I have the Borderline Personality Disorder, so I'm inconsiderate and self-centered. That's just how I roll, people!

Let's all say a prayer for George's continued recovery. Let's generate some positive energy and blow it George's way! I always wanted to blow George.

Monday, March 25, 2013

Hooray for Starbucks CEO Howard Schultz!

It's a free country. You can sell your shares of Starbucks and buy shares in another company. 

--Howard Schultz to a shareholder who criticized the company's support for gay marriage

Well done, Mr. Schultz. Way to go! Let's all buy extra coffee at Starbucks to show that we support a company helmed by someone with such obvious integrity.

Sunday, March 24, 2013

Tomas Young: The Last Letter

"Your positions of authority, your millions of dollars of personal wealth, your public relations consultants, your privilege and your power cannot mask the hollowness of your character. You sent us to fight and die in Iraq after you, Mr. Cheney, dodged the draft in Vietnam, and you, Mr. Bush, went AWOL from your National Guard unit. Your cowardice and selfishness were established decades ago. You were not willing to risk yourselves for our nation but you sent hundreds of thousands of young men and women to be sacrificed in a senseless war with no more thought than it takes to put out the garbage."

I urge you to read Tomas Young's The Last Letter in full at:

Or better yet, watch Tomas read his letter here.

A very sincere thank you to Truthdig and Democracy Now! for sharing Tomas's words with the world. 

Friday, March 22, 2013

If you don't already think animals are superior to our own species. . . .

He was going to care for the baby, despite the fact that a human being threw it out like so much trash.

Another Death that Morally Bankrupt Rich Kid, George W. Bush, and His Cronies Are Responsible For


"Two days after the September 11 attacks, Mr Young, from Kansas City, Oklahoma, joined the Army to serve his country in a time of chaos. 

In 2004, Mr Young was sent to Sadr City, Iraq. Four days after being deployed, he was shot by a sniper.

He was hit in the collarbone on April 4 while riding in an unarmored Humvee and was instantly paralyzed.

He spoke out against the former leaders for starting a war that he says achieved nothing but killing and maiming a generation of soldiers, all while furthering America's thirst for oil.

Mr Young writes: ‘I write this letter, my last letter, to you, Mr Bush and Mr Cheney.

'I write not because I think you grasp the terrible human and moral consequences of your lies, manipulation and thirst for wealth and power. 

‘I write this letter because, before my own death, I want to make it clear that I, and hundreds of thousands of my fellow veterans, along with millions of my fellow citizens, along with hundreds of millions more in Iraq and the Middle East, know fully who you are and what you have done.’

The veteran continues: ‘You may evade justice, but in our eyes you are each guilty of egregious war crimes, of plunder and, finally, of murder, including the murder of thousands of young Americans – my fellow veterans – whose future you stole.'

‘My day of reckoning is upon me. Yours will come. I hope you will be put on trial. 

'But mostly I hope for your sakes, that you find the moral courage to face what you have done to me and to many, many others who deserved to live.’"

God bless you, Tomas Young. I wish you all the best in whatever form it may come. And Tomas, you are right--WE KNOW, WE KNOW, WE KNOW. You will not be forgotten. I promise you that.

Maybe Paul Broun Could Be a Bigger Dumb Ass, but I Doubt It

"God directed that bullet, because if I'd missed, that lion would have been in the back of the truck  with me and I'd have been clawed to death." [That would have been SB's fondest fucking wish.]

If I shot Paul Broun, you can bet your ass I'd happily eat him, though I'll bet his dumb ass isn't particularly tasty either.

For the whole story and more inane quotes from congressman Paul Broun, click below!


Wednesday, January 30, 2013

Rain, Rain, Fuck Off (a letter to the Moms)

Don’t come again some other damn day. Wow, did we ever have buckets of rain last night. I now understand why they say “rain lashing against the window pane.” Sadly it chose to lash after I had already laid awake for over two hours with insomnia. I’ll bet I got all of 3 and 1/2 hours last night at best. Good thing I made lots of progress on the User Guide yesterday. My ass isn’t going to set any records today.

Once the rain quits, I’ll drive over and check your basement. No sense going over until it’s done. Actually, on second thought, I’ll drop by tomorrow because I have to drop my cocksucking rent check at the bank anyway.

Aunt Bev called while I was out walking Kyle, after I talked to you. If Tex and Bob had called, I would have heard from the whole family. Miraculously, Bev didn’t mention Jesus or unleavened fucking bread once. Thank Christ. She said she just wanted to check on me and see how I was doing.

Love you. Love dad. Hate Ohio. This e-mail will be my blog post for today, since it’s full of blue language. I don’t want to disappoint my readers.


Friday, January 18, 2013

Photo of the Damn Day

We've seent this shit before. Russell Brand helps some homeless bitches out and makes the rest of us look wholly inadequate and self-absorbed, which I am--I mean WE ARE.

Warm weather: At one point a street-dweller took off his shirt

Tuesday, January 15, 2013

Shit SB E-mails Her Idol of Greatness, Ms. Moon

The foundation of all abundance is acknowledging what you already have, or so Eckhart Tolle says. Maybe I need so start a cocksucking gratitude journal or some damn shit.