081613 #worm We'll keep going. But only because we're slugs, and we have no choice. We hurry along, about .12 miles per hour, feel that wind. I said, feel that wind. Your car is about a jillion years old and I always know it's you coming up the rut, not because I'm so attuned to the unique motor sound, but because you're the only fucking idiot that ever comes up here. Did you ever wonder why I think you're so fucking hot, and you're so much better than me, and I'm so unworthy and all that shit, but if that were the case why'd you keep fucking coming around here year after year, you horny camp-ass bitch-whore slut? Yeah, that's right. You're just as pathetic as I am. And for some reason, that cheers me up as I light a fire under a rusted-out spatter-ware kettle I found under some dead guy's floorboards about two months ago. Everything finds its way into the junkyard eventually. Trust me. Everything. Even you. Still pullin at that leash.