BRB, gonna relive the past and listen to a Dead To Fall record because I’m feeling a little homesick today.

Significant music devourment session over the last 48 hours. I highly advocate for the recent releases of the following:

Couch Slut
Whores
Those two Julie Christmas singles that dropped off her forthcoming record
Antichrist Siege Machine
Deicide

Oh, jam Dry Socket immediately.

Bodega breakfast at said bodega by myself because Passover. Peace facilitated by a Sausage, Egg, and Cheese.

Yo, Gopuff, thanks for banning my account after I provided evidence that the reason given for “suspicious activity” was bunk after I tried to make an order. Utterly weak.

Lol. Fuck them overpriced yuppie 7-11s.

Sitting in a tattoo shop about to get some new identifying marks, listening to A Perfect Circle, and smiling about watching a lady gush over her new blackout sleeve after two hours of taking crazy pain like a champ.

Ain’t life grand.

Staple the collective obsession with soft pretzels to the list of Philadelphia things I will likely never get used to.

Damn, son. I can’t remember off hand the last fool that got a lifetime ban from the League; this is wild.

GET IN, LOSERS.

Me: I think the cut on my nostril is the universe telling me that I need to pull the trigger on that nose ring I’ve been meaning to get.

Wife, dealing with a mild case of food poisoning: I’m already really sick.

Real talk, the new TERMINAL NATION single makes me want to quit my job and eliminate nationalism with extreme prejudice, even moreso than usual. Extra bonus points for including Jesse Fucking Leach, man.

Hope everyone is enjoying the eclipse I’m stuck in a fucking warehouse during. I dislike this job very much.

Well, I experienced my first earthquake today, so that’s something.

I find it dope as fuck that Kelly Oubre, Jr. has a big ol’ Fiend Skull tattoo that is completely visible on television.

A big thing I’ve taken for granted as I acclimate to the east coast is not being able to go to a Local H show at least once a year.

Hey, Siri? How do I buy an $800 pair of lime green HRS boots that will everyone I know will think I look colossally stupid in but I don’t care because I just want to embrace my inner Johnny Thunders and not have my wife find out?

The person most responsible for pointing me toward a good chunk of the rad shit I listen to is back in the proverbial ballpark. Subscribed, and you should too, ya humps.

It cannot be understated how much listening to The Chats snaps me out of a shitty mood. Makes me want to slam around an oily garage with a burger in one hand and a forty of Steel Reserve in the other.