This is a Brother 1500 S Whisper word processor with an attached printer. I would like to have something like this even though I know there is no way to transfer these files digitally. Maybe I could just write up a few poems, print them out, and stuff them in an envelope the way Charles Bukowski did.
I think I might have a tablespoon of baking soda before we head out. Sort of settle my stomach and prepare it for whatever carnage might be coming its way. Hard to tell at these art venues. Sometimes they'll be cool and have a few beers or a bottle of whiskey around, but generally its wine, which is an instant migraine headache for me.
Set off the smoke alarm earlier making chicken wings. There was no smoke at all, I just just think it sense my panic whenever I cook and reacts. I jumped up and managed to grab it from the wall, and it stopped beeping after three sharp, shrill beeps. I ran downstairs with it and hid it under a stack of towels. Now I have to go down and get it.
Bottom of the hour. I feel like someone is about to twist David Banner's arm within the next minute.
"You want to fight? I'll give you a fight."
Bad idea, dipshit.
I have been wanting to watch this with Jack since it started airing on MeTV a couple of months ago, but I keep forgetting how early it is on, and tonight he's at grandmas.
Made a list of Outlaw Poets earlier today. Running Hulk. That's it. Baking soda time.