We had a fine waste of a day today. Shut the blinds against the sun and it's bribes and opted instead for an afternoon of shitty, hand-me-down Neil Gaiman (I don't know what's happened to him these past years--I think Tori may have cured him of his genius). We ordered pizza. Had enough caffeine to keep me up until three in the morn. Watched Underworld--best use of the word "fuck" ever, by the by ("Are you fucking kidding me?"). Had a few minor tiffs, as is to be expected when cooped up with no spiral mac n' cheese and mild hangovers. Turned the tv on halfway into Edward Scissorhands and couldn't turn it off despite my violent aversion to Anthony Michael Hall (it's the persistently wet under lip). Resurrected the term "boot to the head" and put it into practice. And had a shortlived discussion on what we'd like our dying words to be (Me: "Fuck yeah" (with raised fist). Him: "I just hope it's not 'Oh, Shit'.").
I have no idea how to punctuate that last sentence.
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