Avez-vous ma grande ballon?
Right off the bat, here is my new jacket:


..And here is my tiny, childlike and barely adequate penis room:



Tonight I'm going kickboxing. This is not, alas, kicking boxes. I know, I was all twisted up about it too. Fuck boxes, man. Fuck 'em.

I've also made the decision that tonight, I'm getting drunk. I haven't got blottered yet, and it's really quite annoying. So the bar we're going to tonight serves absinthe, and god damnit, I'm in there.

I'm going to make an observation that I've made before and elsewhere, but fuck it: soup. Soup is great. Is there ANYONE who doesn't like soup? I can tell you that, no, there is nobody. Everyone likes it. Fantastic. It should be used in international incidents as a culinary ambassador.

Today in my lecture, I wrote:

'A superb line of sturdy soldiers, kitted out in red like poppies, marching to the heartbeat of a drum. Bouncing and bobbing, they thread their way through grass and mud, tangling the terrain together like a knitted scarf.'

I have no idea why, but I quite like it.

(I also drew a picture of a door with a man's face on it)

Answer me this, readers of my journal: would you rather have no eyes or no genitals?

P.S. Neil, I'll get around to that meme thing in a bit.