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The sermon for 2002-02-25 is: Dumb-John and Gregor Samsa smackdown! 2:54 a.m. Dear Diary, excuse me, but HOLY SHIT. Ahem. Hi, I'm back. Okay, I need to tell you just how jesus-fucking-freaked out I am right now. (p.s. update: drugs still lost. still wired. mental stability: 6.8)--- so, okay, I'm doing my usual schtick, you know, wandering round my room and talking to myself and picking things up from the floor to examine them closely and evaluate their possible psychotropic effects, when I notice this -- this --- this _thing_ kinda scrabbling along on fifteen thousand little capillaries in the weave of my carpet. Die, I said in my best Old Testament voice, and smushed it into the carpet with the butt of my Bic. I lifted my lighter and the creature bounced up from beneath it, its eighteen thousand legs semaphoring S.O.S. Um, take two: die! I said in my best Koran voice, and pureed the soulless creature. I looked at the little burst sac of thing in my carpet-- AND IT KEPT QUIVERING ONWARD, like a zombie, like a Volkswagen! DIE DIE DIE, I started squealing, and I lit my lighter and waved the flame at the thing -- what the hell was it, a roach? a tick? an evolved blackhead crawling towards land? -- and the mush of hellspawned THING kinda EXPLODED -- and ALL ITS PIECES sprouted all these tiny HAIRY LEGS and started scampering all over the motherfucking carpet! Being the levelheaded research science mind that I am, dependable in disaster and emergencies, I did what you would expect me to do, I started screaming and I lit the carpet on fire. If this was a story or a joke I'd end there, but no this is just the joke of my life, so: so I watched my carpet burn and I'm like, umm, I'm kinda high and I shouldn't be burning things like the carpet. I grabbed the first thing at hand that wasn't actually my hand, which was a pad of Post-Its, and stamped the fire out with it, squealing the entire time because I might touch the icky satanic thing cremated at that pyre's heart. The flames went out. I looked to see if I could figure out what the hell it was -- an earwig? a mutated amoeba? -- IT WAS GONE. I looked at the Post-Its-- IT WAS STUCK TO THE STICKY PART AND IT WAS WIGGLING ALL ITS EIGHTY-EIGHT-THOUSAND MIDDLE FINGERS AT ME, like it was saying "fuck you! fuck you! I AM INDESTRUCTIBLE." anyway, so I have a new pet now, or something. It can't unstick itself from the Post-It, but it's still squirming, or something. I put it on top of my stereo (reminder to self: the creature was left on top of the stereo) and it's kinda creepy looking at it there, arranged like some insect Crucifixion. Diary, if I manage to pass out tonite, keep an eye on it for me, I don't like the vengeful gleam in its 166,660,000 eyes.
 
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