GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #907: ALL RIGHT, LET'S TRY THIS AGAIN

 OK, so last night I was fried from a lousy day. Work sucked as it always does after a Printers Row weekend, but it was extra awful yesterday. I had my worst Monday performance ever at my square job. I didn't even get half of my quota. So by the time I was ready to write GF I was more than a little frustrated.

The main source of my frustration, though, was my topic. I'd planned on calling it BIBLICAL PROPHECIES . . . EXPLAINED! I was going to take a bunch of so-called prophecies from the Bible and explain them for what they really are: BULLSHIT. I was then going to go into detail on the prophecies which *supposedly* came true and then debunk those. Which is easy. Oftentimes these prophecies are written after the fact. But it's the Bible, so it doesn't necessarily *need* to be beholden to facts. That's a lot of research, and the terms of my search weren't great. It took me a while to get that info, and then I realized that, while this is indeed a bit, there is one argument any nitwit could make to defeat my tongue-in-cheek column. Because the "well, actually . . ." crowd doesn't care. Per their interests, jokes must be 100% accurate. If not, they will peck it to death like homicidal hummingbirds. Did you know that Gore Vidal's LINCOLN was trashed by, not literary critics, but historians? Despite the fact that the words "a novel" are in bold on the cover? Historians should think twice before evaluating art professionally, and pedants have no business critiquing jokes.

All the same if I said--even jokingly--that Bible prophecies did *not* come true, all someone would have to say is one word: YET.

They don't see that as batshit crazy. They view it as having faith. The Book of Revelation is insane. I think Hunter S. Thompson called the author a "king-hell dope fiend," and that sounds spot on. But let's set that aside for the moment. This book depicts how we will go through a bunch of horrible shit before Jesus is allowed his kingdom, and we all live happily ever after. Except for the losers in Hell, of course.

History is a set of agreed-upon facts, so it's impossible to say what really happened in Biblical times. A lot of Bibles put Jesus' quotes in red or some similar way of setting his Truth apart from merely "the truth." Which implies that what Jesus says--even though we have no way of knowing for sure he said those things--is more important than what the rest of the Bible says.

If that is the case, the events of Revelation should have happened before the last apostle died. Witness Matthew 16:28:

"Truly I tell you, some who are standing here will not taste death before they see the Son of Man coming in his kingdom."

Keep in mind, Matthew never met Jesus. Of the four gospel authors, only John knew Jesus. So how does Matthew know what Jesus said? He was told? Ever play telephone? Perhaps he had a time machine. Or maybe he was doing a cover version of John's gospel?

The Bible is a book written by madmen, curated by power-hungry bureaucrats. Which means there is NO FUCKING POSSIBLE WAY to confirm the truth of the more mundane passages of the Bible. (Meaning, the stuff that might have actually happened, not the weird parable shit.) So if the faithful want to say the prophecies haven't come true YET, then let's not just nitpick. Let's go whole hog and dismiss the Bible as a poorly written fantasy novel.

But I much prefer jokes. So . . .

BIBLICAL PROPHECIES . . . EXPLAINED! It's all bullshit. Surprise!

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #707: BULLSHIT, REDUX

Ah jeez, we're back to this.

 You might remember a while back I wrote a piece about people wanting to earn a ton of money using ChatGPT to write ebooks. One of the things I mentioned is that a big argument is whether or not a chatbot could create art. I said it wasn't a question we should be bothering with, and I stand by that. I'm kind of surprised no one asked which question we should be asking.

That question is, WHY ARE WE DOING THIS IN THE FIRST PLACE?!

It's become a more important question now because of the writers and actors striking for better treatment. The CEOs of entertainment companies have decided to play the long game. They don't want to share the profits from streaming because they're greedy assholes who found a loophole and are exploiting it as hard as they possibly can. So they're waiting out the writers and actors, most of whom are NOT the millionaires you all think they are. What it comes down to is, who has more money? Certainly not those on strike. It's definitely the multimillionaire CEOs of Disney and Netflix and Discovery, etc. So who is going to lose their homes first?

Let's say the bastards win, and these writers and actors are now homeless. What do these studios expect them to do? Beg for their jobs back? There might be a few who relent, but the majority are going to say FUCK YOU to the bastards. As they should. So who will the studios turn to? Scabs? Sure, there will be a few people willing to do the work but not many. Why? Do you really want to be known as That Guy? You might have a shitty paying job at a big studio, but is it worth the hate and disgust and the scorn of your peers?

And that leaves our li'l buddy, ChatGPT. And my answer for the question I posed above. Which, by the way, is to make writers obsolete. Actors? They'll just CGI their faces onto scabs' bodies. But I'm here to talk about ChatGPT.

Simon Pegg has a few things to say about it:

All true, of course (anyone really want their movies and TV shows to have the same quality as commercials?), but let's go a little deeper than that. ChatGPT does what it does because it has access to data. ALL the data. More data than you might think. I saw a rumor that if you use Google Docs, then your work, published or not, is part of the ChatGPT grist. It's apparently in the user agreement that they can do this, and there's nothing you can do about it because you clicked on ACCEPT without reading it, just like they thought you would. We all know my feelings on user agreements. I haven't looked too much into it because I don't use Google Docs. But who knows? Maybe Microsoft has something similar in their user agreement. Not that it matters because I *don't* use their online product. I have an offline app from almost two decades ago that I use. Which, by the way, I recommend if you can do it.

But getting back to the data, ChatGPT knows enough to fake it. Yes, it has never had its heart broken and has never suffered any personal tragedies, but remember, it has ALL the data, and with that much it can easily fake those things. So my unpopular opinion is, yes, ChatGPT *can* create art. But as stated before, this is meaningless.

Because there is one thing that human beings have that ChatGPT will NEVER have. It's one of the most important things about writing, and it cannot be faked because if you lack it, you can't pretend to have it.

And that, my good fuckers, is A REASON TO WRITE. Every single thing I've ever written was done with a purpose. Yes, even my two "Monster Cock" stories. Yes, even things like Dong of Frankenstein and John Holmes, Vampire Slayer and even 6669: Demon Porn. Any writer worth their salt isn't just full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. They all have reasons for writing. The only reason ChatGPT has is because some doofus typed a prompt into it. It has no other reason to "write."

ChatGPT was not created to write books. It was created "to hold a conversation with the end user," "to simulate natural human chat in an interesting, entertaining and humorous manner." Perhaps we should leave it at that.

Although to be fair I'm sure ChatGPT could come up with stories for the studios that would please everyone and not be problematic in the slightest. Maybe that's the goal. I suspect the goal might be, and here's where I get a little crazy but stick with me, that eventually the only people around will be the super rich. I always kind of thought that they needed us poors around for unpleasant tasks, but what if AI could just do that instead? Why keep the poor around? Why not better humanity by getting rid of them all. And then, after a hard day's genocide, let's kick back and say to my computer, "Tell me a story."

Pretty grim. A little terrifying. Possibly a conspiracy-of-one theory, but it's better than what those Q shit weasels have. I wish them the best of luck with that whole JFK Jr-is-alive thing.

Anyway, did you know that ChatGPT is on our side on this argument? A clever wit posed it an interesting question, and we got a perfect answer, so ChatGPT isn't entirely bad. I'll end with this:

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #631: BULLSHIT

THAT'S RIGHT, BULLSHIT.

 I posted the picture above because whenever I post links to these columns, the social media website usually chooses the first picture as part of the post, and I don't want the picture I had in mind to be the one showing. It's about a ChatGPT scam that is comprised of a staggering amount of bullshit, so I thought Penn & Teller would be a good picture to lead off with. Anyway, I've stripped the link to the YouTube video because I don't want to drive any traffic to it.

(Also, I'm cheating a little. Today was a rough day, and I want to be in a good mood--and high--for History of the World Part 2, so I wrote this earlier today. But I thought this was important to do today since it was brought to my attention only a few hours ago.)

MORE BULLSHIT.

ChatGPT was probably not meant to write books, so of course people are going to use it to write books. Students are already using it to write class papers, so why the fuck not? Let's put aside the question of whether or not a chatbot can produce art. It's not even the question we should be asking, anyway. Let's look at the realistic practice of this.

Can ChatGPT be used to write a book? Yes. And let's say, for the sake of argument, that it's a good book and sounds like it could have 100% come from a human. Let's say you take that book and format it for, say, Kindle and publish it, just like any other piece written by a human.

Can you really make that much money selling those ebooks?

Not just no, but fuck no. Unless you're already a big name author, but that's not why you want to click the link, right? If you already have a big name, then you wouldn't be wasting your time thinking about this.

The average price of a Kindle book is $9.50. That's a bit expensive, and I have my doubts about that (I'm pretty sure the reality is closer to $4.99), but let's accept that as fact for now. KDP, which you would be using because you're not getting published by a New York publishing house, states the average royalty rate is 60%. That means that for every book you sell, you get $5.70. Again, that's a little high end, but we'll go with it for now. How many books would you have to sell in one week to make $2500?

At this point I feel it's important to point out that math was my worst subject in school. I probably maintained a C- average throughout my academic life when it came to math. I'm simplifying things a bit for an approximate understanding, so when I say what I'm about to say next, know that it's not exact, but it's close. Very, very close. Close enough for my purposes here.

If you round up, you'll need to sell 439 ebooks to make $2500 in a week. And keep in mind, that is, in my opinion, the high end because most ebooks aren't that expensive, so you would probably have to sell even more. Who is going to spend that much for one ebook from an unknown author? But let's stick with $9.50. Is it possible to sell 439 ebooks in one week? Sure. It's also possible that I'll win the Publishers Clearinghouse Sweepstakes, but that is not very likely. But let's say you have a lot of friends. Or your mom bought at least a hundred ebooks. I've been doing this long enough to know that your first week of sales is probably going to be your best week. After that your numbers will dribble off week by week until you're surprised if you sell one copy of your new book in a week.

Even if you somehow succeed at selling that many books in your first week, and the odds are astronomically against you, then there is no way you can keep up that level of sales, not enough to quit your day job. Unless you have ChatGPT cook you up another book next week. And the week after. And the following week. Etc. You'll reach a point where not even your mom is going to want to buy every book you put out, and that's assuming you're not telling her that ChatGPT is the actual author.

There is another thing to think about: cover art. If you're not looking to spend any money, then you're using KDP's cover creator, and I'm pretty sure no one buys anything with one of those covers. But if you're really trying to sell that many books in one week, you're going to need a cover artist. That can run you a few hundred dollars per book, which cuts into that $2500 that YouTube video is tempting you with. So now you'll have to sell more.

I didn't click on the link, either, so I'm not sure what the endgame is for that scam. I can only assume that they need human beings to format the books ChatGPT is going to spit out, and that the lion's share goes to whatever company is trying to tempt you with that bullshit. Which means that the $2500 is probably a fraction of a bigger number, so you'll need to sell a lot more than 439 copies to get what you want. Because they certainly won't want you to have 60% of any ChatGPT ebook you publish. The stuff before this paragraph is logically why you shouldn't click on that link. This paragraph is just me wondering how the fuck anyone could even think about taking part in it. It makes zero sense. Do people see the dollar sign and the number that follows and just get horny for it? I guess. But even if you think to yourself that you can do this without whatever bullshit company is advertising this bullshit plan, it still makes no sense.

It's baffling. It's absurd. It's crazy. And, of course, it's . . .

Indeed.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #88: COMIC BOOK READER

In the wake of the new season of COMIC BOOK MEN, I feel the need to talk about my love of comic books. Since I started reviewing comic books for the Elmhurst College LEADER in 1998, I've been considered a comic book reader. To be fair, I did this long before. I loved comics when I was a kid, and I didn't stop until Marvel's incarnation of THE TRANSFORMERS ended, much to my chagrin. Years later, CJ, a friend I'd met during my senior year of high school, got me back into comics with EVIL ERNIE, PREACHER and HITMAN. Three years later, I was writing reviews for the LEADER as the first comic book reviewer EVER on staff. My time there won me an award from the Chicago TRIBUNE. (I got two, actually, but I only got one for my comic book work.)


Still, whenever I mention my love of comic books, people assume I'm talking about superheroes. This pisses me off a great deal, because not all comic books are about superheroes. In fact, I don't like superheroes. I know, that's blasphemy in this age of Marvel movies. Let me make myself clear: I love the superhero movies, but I can't stand the superhero comic books. I'm not condemning those books. It's a matter of taste. I don't like them, but I don't hate people who like them. That's your business, not mine.


I don't really read superhero comic books. The only time I do is when a writer I respect is writing them. There are a handful of great superhero stories, I think. One of them is obviously WATCHMEN. Another is THE BOYS, which is one of the greatest comic books ever written. I loved Mark Millar's take on OLD MAN LOGAN. The same goes for David Morrell's take on SAVAGE WOLVERINE. And then there's books like Brian Azzarello's WONDER WOMAN and so on and so forth.


But ultimately, those aren't the books I'm interested in, aside from THE BOYS. I think superheroes are stupid. I find it's a fucking shame that the average person isn't aware that comic books are more than some person wearing skintight underwear facing off against criminal/evil alien villains. I want PREACHER. I want TRANSMETROPOLITAN. I want 100 BULLETS. And yes, I want LOCKE & KEY. How about AMERICAN VAMPIRE? Or DICKS? Or CROSSED? Or THE FADE OUT? Or CRIMINAL or FATALE? FBP? SAGA? SEX CRIMINALS? STRAY BULLETS? TREES? How about DORK and MILK AND CHEESE? I could go on forever, but most average people, whenever they think of comic books, will think about Superman, Batman, the X-Men, Spider-Man and whoever else wears spandex tight enough to show the shape of their genitals.


I love Tommy Monaghan, one of the few guys in the old DCU who took the piss out of superheroes on a regular basis. He puked on Batman and showed how Green Lantern was a cheapskate. Or how about THE BOYS, who policed the degenerate supes?


But . . . the loyal fans of HITMAN remember very well that there was one superhero who had earned Tommy's trust: Superman. And just like that, I can appreciate certain things about the comic book superheroes.


Whenever someone brings something cool into the Stash on COMIC BOOK MEN, I can truly appreciate it. I'm wowed. I'm very interested to see how these things turn out, because they're historical documents.


But let's be honest. Superheroes should have died out long ago. Marvel manages to keep them alive, for the most part. I don't like a lot of their methods, but they have their hearts in the right place. DC, on the other hand, has driven their titles into the ground. They don't know what the fuck they're doing. If their BATMAN/SUPERMAN movie succeeds, it will only be because people were curious enough to see it. Not because it's great, though.


Some superheroes are immortal, and that's fine. Those who aren't should have been released a while ago. The Big Two work constantly to reinvent these characters, but in all honesty, I think they should just be released. If they continue with new people behind the mask, then it's the same ol' bullshit as ever. If there's a reboot, no matter how much you change it, it's still the same ol' bullshit as ever. If you let these characters die? They can serve a narrative purpose.


Reboots only serve as commercial agents. Actually killing characters off would serve stories very well. Not like I give a shit. Just give me my non-superhero books, and I'll be satisfied.


But what the fuck do I care? You guys fuck around with your superhero comics, and I'll stay over here with the other stuff. Goodnight, fuckers.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #84: I DON'T APPROVE OF THIS BULLSHIT

Before starting, I should warn you that I don't like Pat Quinn. Since America is full of them-or-us bullshit, I feel the need to say that I don't like Rauner, either. Quinn has proven himself to be inadequate for the job of governor of IL, and I don't want him running my state. Rauner is a piece of shit, and I don't want him running my state, either. Don't bother mentioning anyone else, because we all know that it will come down to a choice between these two fuckers and NO ONE ELSE. So yeah, I'm stuck with having either puke or shit run my state after this next election, and there's nothing I can do to avoid that, except move out of the state, which I can't afford right now.

Enough of that. This isn't about politics. This is about horseshit. Or bullshit, if you prefer. I'd even accept dogshit. (To be fair, if Quinn lost, it would be kind of novel to have an Illinois governor who got to leave office without going to prison first.)

This morning, I saw a Quinn reelection commercial. He spouted a bunch of stuff about how he wanted to reform the college loan laws so people could refinance it just like they could refinance a car loan or a mortgage. It's a message I agree with, but that doesn't matter. (Especially since Illinois has waaaaaaay more important problems than that.) But after talking about this for about thirty seconds, he said, "I'm Pat Quinn, and I approve of this message."

That phrase has become so ubiquitous that most people don't even notice it anymore. You all know my feelings about it. However, despite the fact that I'm enraged by this utterance, I'm even angrier at this usage than anything else.

Politicians started saying this because OTHER PEOPLE were saying things about them in an attempt to get them elected, and they decided to add this insidious phrase to those commercials to show their endorsement of those who support them. (OK, I know. The politicians themselves were responsible for these commercials in all reality, so of course they were approving of their own message. But that's all behind the scenes. They were at least pretending that it was otherwise, and I can make my peace with that. It's unethical, but at least it's not stupid.)

However, the Quinn commercial I saw today insulted me on a very basic level. YOU CAN'T USE THAT PHRASE AFTER ACTUAL FOOTAGE OF YOU GIVING THE MESSAGE. If there is a single human being on this planet who couldn't understand the message THAT YOU, PERSONALLY, JUST GAVE US, then you haven't done your job.

The only reason I can possibly fathom for this is that politics has become so untrustworthy that politicians feel the need to tell us, hey guys. We're not liars. We really mean this shit. Here's the thing, though: if you feel the need to tell us that you're not a liar, chances are extremely high that you're a liar.

Any other usage of this--ANY--suggests that you're a dumb ass. You might as well say, "We should do this, that and the other thing. My name is Dumb Motherfucking Piece of Shit, and I approve of the message that just left my stupid fucking redundant non-liar mouth."

Fuck. I need to get laid.

AN UTTER BETRAYAL OF TRADITION: A booze review of MIDNIGHT MOON

Wow, there has been a huge movement to revive moonshine in this country.  If only Georgia Moon had held out another ten years before releasing its product.  They could have made money hand over fist.

And why not bring moonshine back?  It’s cheap to make, and you only have to age it 30 days, unlike the customary 4-9 years.  Best of all, anyone could make it.  You can go online and buy everything you need to make a still, and the distilling instructions seem pretty easy.

Except . . . well, the major problem with this new glut of moonshine on the market is IT’S NOT REAL MOONSHINE!  The highest proof of the stuff you’ll find is 100.  No, that is NOT moonshine.  Real moonshine runs anywhere between 180-190, and it will fuck you the fuck up.  Drink enough of it, and you could go blind.  Seriously.  YOU WILL LOSE YOUR EYESIGHT.  It takes the hardiest of constitutions and the strongest of stomachs to deal with the real stuff.

The most popular of the new moonshines is Midnight Moon.  Even the skeptical have to agree that the story on the label is pretty cool.  It’s the tale of Junior Johnson and his family.  To hear them tell it, this guy was constantly on the run, selling his moonshine like them Duke boys of Hazzard County.  Sure enough, that was probably the case.  Here’s the problem:  “Midnight Moon follows the Johnson family, small batch recipe.  It’s proudly made by our very own hands, and triple distilled to craft a smooth, clean-tasting spirit.”

Remember this.  We’ll come back to it in a second.

Never mind that the bottle comes with the old-fashioned sticker seal that booze used to have before someone invented twist caps.  Johnson’s original moonshine, since it was illegal to possess in the first place, would certainly not have had the seal back in the good ol’ days.  As soon as you pull the cork, you’ll notice that there’s barely any scent.  Not bad for the functioning alcoholics out there, but real moonshine has a distinctive rubbing alcohol odor.

And the taste?  Smooth as can be.  There is almost no taste, and there is minimal burn.  Not bad for drunkards in training, but for seasoned drinkers?  No.  Absolutely not.  MOONSHINE HAS TO KICK YOUR ASS FROM THE VERY INSTANT YOU TASTE IT.  It has to be harsh.  It has to set your throat on fire.  It has to hurt.  Because, well, it’s cheap shit with more in common than engine cleaner than whiskey.

Remember that quote from the label?  There is no fucking way that someone like Junior Johnson, if he is indeed as portrayed in the story, would have sold this shit.  It’s too smooth, it’s too nice, and it’s a mere 80-proof.  If he really was as they say, this product is a complete betrayal of his tradition.

The biggest crime of all?  It’s not as cheap as moonshine should be.  Depending on which state you live in, it costs anywhere between twenty and thirty bucks for a fifth.  That’s outrageous.

In short, if Junior Johnson were alive to see and taste his legacy, he would be sorely disappointed in his descendants.  What kind of asshole would take something as vicious and vile as moonshine and try to turn it into a hipster drink?

[EDIT:  Uh . . . it turns out that Junior Johnson is still alive, and he has given his approval to this product.  He’s even a part of the company.  You can get a bottle of this shit personally signed by him.  This is absolutely disgusting news.  Clearly he felt the need to cash in on his story.  So, yeah.  He’s a sellout.  Come on.  The website even says their moonshine is gluten-free.  What are they going to do next?  Put nutrition facts on the label?  Go fuck yourself.]

THE DUI DIARY: Chapter Twenty-Four

I never thought I’d say it, but court is getting really, really boring. It used to be the best people-watching I could get (aside from maybe hanging out at Wal-Mart). Now it’s business as usual. Even watching the judge bully kids is getting old. Absolutely nothing of note happened.



Until I was called, that is. When I got to the bench, Don and Ferguson were talking about something that had apparently happened in my absence. Not surprising because I missed a court date due to hospitalization. After a moment, I realized that it had also happened in my LAWYER’s absence. Had he missed my court date, too? Longtime readers will recall it has happened once before.


No, Don was there to notify the court that I was in the hospital. However, someone fucked up when it came to getting me a new court date. I was actually scheduled to show up last Friday . . . and no one thought to tell either me or Don. In fact, Don was on vacation in Vegas at the time, and when I was called on Friday, no one was there on my behalf. Luckily, Steve was there for another case, so the judge talked with him instead.


The problem: the judge decided, in my absence and Don’s, to deny the motion to suppress the officer’s testimony. Which means the trial continues as previously planned. Even the judge admitted such a decision seems kind of shady, but what’s done is done.


Here’s the thing: no one mentioned this, but we were all thinking it. The guy who fucked up the scheduling was the judge himself. He just wrote it down wrong on his fucking calendar. Nobody was going to call him on it because no one wanted to piss him off.


Fine. I’ll jump through some more hoops. I return in a couple of months to continue my trial. Hopefully by then court will get more interesting.


TO BE CONCLUDED ON FRIDAY!

THE DUI DIARY: Chapter Twenty-Two

Today’s excursion into the legal process wasn’t very interesting, maybe because I didn’t really understand a lot of what was happening. People watching wasn’t very optimal, either, since Don had me wait outside the whole time. I got to see a few prisoners get sent back to lock-up, but that’s about it.



Once the two of us were outside, I asked him what we had planned for today. “We’re going to continue trying to impeach the arresting officer’s testimony. You’re going to see a lot of bullshit happen in this room today.”


That was less than reassuring. After a while, I went back inside, and things were so slow I started reading my book, John Shirley’s WETBONES. It’s a good book, but there are far too many typos to keep my mind in the story. The ending kind of lacks, too. But anyway, after a few cases got knocked out of the way, we started mine again.


I looked at the clock, surprised to find that it wasn’t even noon yet.


Standing beside Don, I watched him launch into an unbelievable tirade, which I understood very little of. I got the basics. We’re still going after the arresting officer, and he’s got other precedents to refer to, but the crux of his argument this time is that missing correspondence between the arresting officer and the dispatch office. Apparently, this correspondence has been destroyed, even though it was promised to Don and never delivered. The prosecutor tried breaking in several times, but the judge would have none of it. Things were starting to look up for my lawyer, and therefore myself.


But when they got down to the knock-down drag-out, nobody gave a shit about whose turn it was to talk. It was a free-for-all, and the judge didn’t bother to keep the peace. Don and the prosecutor were practically spitting in each others faces. I didn’t understand a word, but it looked fucking awesome. John Grisham could stand to learn a thing or two from these guys.


You might be wondering why I didn’t understand a lot of this argument. Well, the fault is probably with the medication I was on. My guts have been killing me for a long time, to the point of me puking blood. Not fun. The previous day I’d been in the ER, and they’d given me some kind of Super Maalox with some belly number in it. This did the fucking trick. Boy-howdy! The thing is, it made me drowsy as shit. Usually, I stand before the judge with my arms crossed in front of me, hands by my belt. This was too much trouble today. I had to balance myself on the wooden counter by the clerk. Much of my time was spent in this manner rather than paying attention.


Finally, the argument came to a close, and it struck me that Don had indeed won this bout. The judge spoke to him in deference. However, at the same time, he spoke kindly to the prosecutor, since he was giving him another chance to fuck me up. So, bad news there. But at the same time, the guy couldn’t do it the first time, so HA HA, and fuck you.


Of course, there will be a next time. From what I’ve been able to tell, this is part of a hearing, not a trial. So there might be quite some time before this thing is over. I’m sorely tempted to start printing this early, but who knows who might read this? Don’t want to contaminate anyone, now do I . . . .?


Come August, this thing goes on. Hopefully by then, I won’t have anymore problems with my guts. We shall see. Until then, RISE UP, BOOZEHEAD!


TO BE CONTINUED TOMORROW!