Too Good Too Bad

I smoked a cigarette tonight. Unable to sleep, I stepped to my window around one A.M. and lit this fag I got from a lady friend last weekend. Taking a leak from the very same window five months ago, shooting into the flow of raindrops from four stories high didn't feel nearly this strange. Damn drunken summer nights.

And damn leather jacket pockets. The cig broke at more than one points, its filter was completely destroyed, and I still can't get used to that old shitty taste. It's not like I wanted to, but still managed to feel it way too many times in the last two months. Damn freshmen camps.

You could define me a social smoker. I'd call myself as an anti-social one. Standing there alone, breathing in and out, slowly, like a dying whale that ran ashore, I was thinking about growing up, becoming independent, walking under an unearthly weight of a million responsibilities. Besides the usual I could use a Coke thought, only one thing hit my mind in conclusion: I'm going to write a filler post that makes absolutely no sense, but it'll have a crazy twist ending in the last sentence.

Here, have a look at Jerry O'Connell's chomped off penis.