My Fellow Bar Mates. I have returned. Hicup. Sort of.

It has been sometime since my last post, and surprise! I’m alive. Yes I did manage to survive the bomb. I’m sure you would like to know the details; and perhaps if you stay tuned to my blog, I will enlighten you. Also, as a personal request, I would appreciate it if you could bring me some booze. I'm a little cut off from funds and personal hygiene at the moment, so I need the booze to balance things out... Anyway, four months have passed since that night. Much has transpired, and most of it you would not believe.

...but I digress. I did survive the bomb over NY. Now, I wish I hadn’t. My bab... My bab... My baby brother… (*sniff) He is gone. At the time, I just knew he would make it, but alas I was wrong. It is the irony of the universe that one learns to appreciate the nuances of another’s perspective after they are gone from us. I could never understand Peter’s whiny, emo ways while he was here; but now I live daily with deep depression.

Not only is my brother gone, but my Mother hates me. I pretend that it doesn’t bother me. I called her evil to her face after all; but deep down I am a Mamma’s boy. I miss her, and I jumped at the opportunity to get her out of jail. I even took a sneak picture of her with my cell to remember her by…

Scr@#w all that. I don’t care if mumzie hates me. The vast cold darkness of my soul can find no solace. My wife is gone. I don’t care. My children are gone. I don’t care. I am alone. I am nothing…I once told Peter, “I don’t know who I am without you.” However, perhaps I do know. I am the new face of emo. Can emo’s have beards? Now that Peter is gone, my beard is my chia pet, and it will be my companion for all eternity, or until something crawls out of it and shaves me.