Tikk Tokk

Tick, glorious fucking tick tock.

My last month in this rancid feces smear of a “kulture”.  9 years I’ve watched this place’s people kanibalize themselves to a point of no return.

What better way to kap it off than one last soul-nah (l)? 

As I watch the little pig people slobber all over each other to get fleeced with the world’s most expensive groceries and pile into their tinfoil shitboxes to suffer in traffic with people they secretly hate all to konvince themselves and others that they aren’t the sociopathic narcissists they really are.

As I step over the countless frozen circles of orange vomit on my way, fuck,  anywhere my step feels lighter.  I may actually be skipping.

I have nearly killed myself with work this “holiday” season.  I think I’ve been averaging 5 hours a night of fitful sleep, haunted gleefully by thoughts of freedom.  Like a prisoner counting down the final days of his sentence I can taste the fresh air, if yet only in my mind.

I thought about doing a month in southeast Asia before going home, for the sun and smiles, but I don’t think I’ll ever want to set foot in this continent again.  I’m sure I’ll suffer PTSD the rest of my life.  So severely has this fuckstain kuntry warped me that I’m even thinking a moron like Trump might be a good call for president since he’ll shut the borders tighter than a nun’s knees.  With any luck that will include Klowns.

I won’t be voting for Trump.  Don’t worry.  But fuck if I never want to hear another klown as long as I live.

The bitter whistling winter winds of Chicago sound as sweet as summertime Georgia windchimes in my mind.

Tick fucking tock.