Santacon

Today is Santacon, the day when a bunch of dumb fucks from Staten Island and Jersey come into Manhattan and make everyone hate it even more than they already do. It starts at ten AM (aka before I woke up) and ends when everyone is passed out in a gutter in Midtown. Thus, I will not be heading into Manhattan today. Not like I was going to anyway. God, I’m a curmudgeon!

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I think I’m feeling grouchy because of that age-old catch-22: I feel like shit when I don’t do anything, but I don’t want to do anything. Instead of going to a party in Queens that would set me back twenty-five bucks for a cab home last night, I vegetated with bagel chips and Law and Order: SVU until 2:30 AM. It wasn’t even the good ones with Stabler in them! Netflix only has the most recent few seasons. Somehow Ice T is still on there though, after fifteen years of his only line being “That’s messed up.”

It also doesn’t help that the weather is on a steep incline from “bearable” to “Rip Van Winkling myself until May.”

By the way, after Wikipedia-ing “Rip Van Winkle” to make sure I was using that reference correctly (my blog should just be called “commentary on Wikipedia“), I’ve discovered that the whole debacle was caused by Rip Van Winkle being lazy as fuck and wanting to get away from his “nagging” wife, who was basically just like “Can you please work so we don’t die of starvation and whatnot.” What a piece of shit.

Well, I think that’s enough complaining for today.

 

 

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