Greetings....infidel.

Achmed, the Dead Terrorist, has been sitting pretty in my head for close to a week now. So, basically, I’ve been going around yelping, “SILENCE…I kill you” at random people. Almost said it to the Bossman, caught myself in time, yeah. But, hey, after a week spent mostly in bed, thanks to food-poisoning and 2 near-fatal car accidents, I’ve got a right to tell people I might decapitate them if they don’t shut their pie holes.

I shouldn’t be feeling too happy and, frankly, I think I need more sleep and get rid of this rope burn around my neck.

But you know what? This feels great.

I should be (a) getting my bank statements together for my tax returns; (b) trying not to move around too much lest my stomach and my head decide to disintegrate yet again; (c) getting my dinosaur Thinkpad back from the bodyshop; and (d) taking my jalopy to the bodyshop to hammer out all the dents those scumbag bikers put in a couple of night ago.

And yet, all I really want to do is go break my neck in a mosh-pit at a Lamb of God concert. Convulse like an epileptic marionette and scream “GUARAN-FUCKING-TEED…..SOMEONE WILL BLEED”!

Well, I certainly want SOMEONE to bleed, and I don’t care who. Let’s see you take this under advisement, jerkweed.