Bless You, My Child!

[Vung Tau, 2/26/26]

Since it was raining fairly hard at 3AM, I couldn’t leave my room. Though it was still coming down by 6, I walked out anyway. I’ve never bought an umbrella. Over my exposed laptop I draped a heavy paper shopping bag. The delay allowed me to hear the beginning of the Functional Melancholic’s latest. Again, he was talking about the necessity of silence.

Listen, man, I’m doing what I can with the worst fuckin’ equipment. Biologically, too. Not only was I born cretinous, I never took typing in highschool. (Thomas Jefferson in Northern Virginia before it became almost exclusively Asian, with even the dumbest dipshit scoring at least 3,000 on his SAT while nursing a hangover.) Decades of Rolling Rock, Guinness, Jameson and even occasional shots of Southern Comfort have reduced my brain cell count to many floors below zero. See, that doesn’t even make sense. Now, I must put up with fuckin’ TikTok laughter everywhere I go, so why not just write, if you can this that, at home, not that I even have one?! My eyesight is also shit. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out I was blinder than a naked fuckin’ mole rat, so help me, God.