This book was really disturbing and pretty much craptastic. I liked the last 30-50 pages, but the lead in was awful. Everyone speaks in this assbackwards British way and trying to decipher what the hell is going on is painful sometimes. Burgess pulled that shit off in A Clockwork Orange--not so much here.
Pennsylvania is turning out to be less of a hellhole than I originally thought, but it still kind of sucks. I realize it's commonplace and ignorant to complain about where you live, even if it is temporary, but I also realize it's commonplace for everyone to pine for home when you're away. Even if your home is Pennsylvania. And it sucks.
Since I still have the allusion that this is generally a pro wrestling/baseball blo... check that. I hate that word, so from here on out this "interweb space for thought" is going to be referred to as my "Crispex." Why? Because Crispix is delicious and they have that copywritten. And I like the e more than the i. The e is irrational, but the i is imaginary (and that's bull shit).
The point is, I should at least talk about pro wrestling on my Crispex because last night's pay-per-view was supposed to be a big one. I went in hoping to see Sycho Sid or Chris Jericho return, and at the very least a 4-star match from Benoit and Punk. WWE didn't even give the fans a grim reaper, and it all sucked. It was indeed a fun time, but the matches blew ass. I did meet a guy at the bar wearing a shirt that said "DIE ORC" and he talked about his pro wrestling club at PSU. I wonder what the odds are that he's gonna die a virgin.
About eleventy billion to one that if he doesn't, money was involved. Or furries.
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