|
|
Tuesday, May 6th, 2008
| |
8:46 pm
|
I want to continue drinking beer, listening to Down, and shooting my new 357 magnum.
My half sleeve is done, I have $6,000 paid on my truck, a new badass gun, and me and Lindscore are as good as ever.
Life is good.
Listen to Bright Eyes, and read anything by Vonnegut.
And always remember, blasphemy is only worthwhile when it will be appreciated.
That as well as exposing your balls.
JW
|
|
|
| Thursday, April 24th, 2008
| |
9:36 pm
|
The lack of reading is killing me.
I get done with a 13-14 hour day and all I want to do is drink some beer, talk to lindscore, and go to bed.
A change at work must happen soon. I think that is set in motion though. So hopefully it will go back to usual at work for me soon.
I'm getting a lot of good feedback about my sleeve.
Even the day shift boss came up to me today to look it over. I guess one advantage of my job is it's all semi-young guys. As where at bluestone it was all old timers. Of course the work was better, but it was hard to see eye to eye about things to talk about.
I don't mind if you don't mind, because I don't shine if you don't shine.
The Killers are great. No Jimmy Eat World, but still good stuff.
End.
|
|
|
| Sunday, April 20th, 2008
| |
5:21 pm
|
After a long time of planning, and an even longer time of waiting, I finally got my first half sleeve finished saturday.
I also had another one of those pleasantly queer weekends.
I'm halfway done with the new Vonnegut. Really good so far. Start on a really powerful point with the letter he wrote to his parents about his capture and imprisonment in Dresden. You've read about it over and over in his novels, mainly Slaughterhouse Five. You almost forget that he really lived it. I also love how his son talked about anything that Kurt said or wrote, even though it seemed quick, was well thought out, and went over and over again in his head. He would write a sentence and repeat it to himself over and over, then go on, or tear the paper out of the typewriter and trash it.
So I just found out from my cousin that there's an article in Entertainment about a documentary coming out about Hunter S. Thompson. He made it a point to stress that it won't be something loved by fans because it won't portray his suicide in a heroic fashion. I have yet to meet anyone that loves his writing to think it was heroic. If they're anything like me, they're pissed about it, and will be left wanton of more of his writing. I don't think there's anything he did that I would call heroic. I will say that I admire his talent and the fact that he was who he was, and didn't care what anyone else thought. He didn't go through the rehab bullshit just to make people love him. We all know that everyone loves a good fucking redemption story. He needed no redemption.
Redemption is just another high before the next low.
I spent today taking my uncle grocery shopping, and also checking out Gander Mountain.
I could spend hours and a few hundred dollars in there. Today I just spent a little over $200 there. Got a nice new pair of work boots, a nice multi-tool knife, and a replaceable razor blade knife. I must go back for some fishing tackle. I also must go fishing within the next couple of weeks, or else I will go insane.
I don't think insanity is that far fetched at this point. There's a select few things that keep me walking the line. If any of them were to go askew, I'm sure my mind would follow.
I'll enjoy the homeostasis for now.
This time last year if someone would have told me that I would've worked a 77 hour week, got a new tattoo, and then got to hang out with a girl you're crazy about, doing something you both enjoy, and had a completely peaceful and fun night together, I would've kicked them in the nuts and told them not to tease me like that.
Well I've enjoyed this said scenario for almost 5 months now.
Content is the word.
Well actually that's the word along with hopeful, atonement, sanity, joy, laughter, excitement, beautiful, connection, etc...
buy a thesaurus, you get the hint.
I'll end on that note, like all my weeks lately have ended.
Happy.
JW
|
|
|
| Friday, April 4th, 2008
| |
8:00 pm
|
New tattoo tomorrow.
Other than that, nothing but fucking negative in my future.
I want to continue drinking beer until 4:50 am when i have to wake up, and then drink a couple more. Then just go to work and say "fuck it."
I need that "fuck it" way these days.
Sometimes I miss my temper.
Biting your tongue only works until you've finished chewing that last inch of it.
Don't even mention the heartburn that it leaves.
Or should I use the word heartbreak?
The heart is such a bullshit joke of God's.
Here's something that will give you the greatest joy.
Here's something that will give you the greatest sorrow.
Here's something that despite it all, will be the only thing to keep you going when you just don't want to go on.
Here's something that despite it all, will be the only thing to take you away from a life that you want to go on and on for eternity.
nothing genius
nothing at all
|
|
|
| Friday, March 28th, 2008
| |
10:08 pm
|
I'm on the verge of both a nervous and mental breakdown.
I thought there'd never be a time in my life where blowing shit up would leave a sick feeling in my stomach.
I can't take it anymore.
If anyone could actually climb into my head right now, I would pity them. I'm on the verge of crying, throwing a fist, or just throwing in the towel at least 17 hours of the day.
I give up on humanity. Anyone at work I grow to like just turns my respect for them into a reason to snort a pill in front of me because they can trust me not to rat.
Fuck you.
I don't rat on anyone because I've been raised to never mess with another man's livelyhood. At the same time I won't let you do anything dangerous knowing you're a fucking pillhead. Thus more work on my back.
Prescription drugs are the #1 cause of drug related deaths in West Virginia. Not the republican nemesis marijuana, not the speed fiend with money's nemises meth, not even the tourists afraid of needles nemesis heroine.
Fucking prescriptions
I hate when you all tell me that you swear you're going to quit. Your wife and kid is more important. You've seen the light, this is the end of the pill tunnel(because remember it's not a drug, it's just a pill, fuck you.) Why are you so fucking jittery when you open your soul to me about quitting? Surely you're not just telling me this because you know I'm over such things. Surely you don't think such a small thing would actually make me feel deeper for you. Sadly it fucking does. Just to learn you didn't leave work temporarily to work at another mine, but because you got put into fucking rehab.
I wish the words oxycontin, hydrocodone, and all nerve pills could be burned from all of our tongues.
|
|
|
| Friday, March 21st, 2008
| |
8:14 pm
|
Natural light rocks your fucking face off.
That's the only wisdom I want to part with because I'm growing to fucking loathe deadjournal and it's nonactivity.
Fuck everything, I want to be fucking simple for the night.
Give me a fucking beer, good music, and white noise in my head anytime anything serious is brought to my attention.
Fuck you all
the end
P.S. Read The Proud Highway. Despite it's length it's worth it. Don't try to read it straight through, appreciate it through a couple of weeks time span.
|
|
|
| Monday, March 10th, 2008
| |
7:15 pm
|
Comment Posted SuccessfullyIf a girl ever dedicated such a shit song to me, I would punch her in the face, for her own good.
Lindscore (7:13:11 PM): hahaha awesome
Lindscore (7:13:31 PM): i'ma dedicate a lil' kim song to you
ModdedHeart (7:13:35 PM): hahahahahahahahahahha
ModdedHeart (7:13:42 PM): that's going in the dj
Lindscore (7:13:57 PM): bitchin
|
|
|
| Sunday, March 9th, 2008
| |
11:05 am - Dear Drunk
|
Dear drunk,
The depths of my sorrow for you has no bounds. If you could only realize how bad I feel for you, and just how many hours of my day is spent with your drunken-self on my mind. For an example, I was at my doctors office last week and found myself even telling him about you. I told him the torture that you're putting your liver through even makes my liver hurt. He instantly pulled out his prescription pad and Pfizer endorsed ink pen and wrote me a neat little prescription to help the sympathy woes of my liver.
He warned me about the itching, but I think that's a small price to pay to know that my liver will never be shriveled and black like yours.
Of course my worries for you run deeper than that of just your liver.
Just this past sunday I had a prayer request with my priest for you to finally awake and become sober. It was weird, he kind of had this glassy look in his eyes (even more than most evangelicals do). It had me worried so I expressed my concern about him to his wife. She told me it was just a side effect to this new medicine the doctor has put him on. She said it's a god-send because he'd been unable to sleep for so long because his legs would twitch. She said the glassy-eyed thousand yard stare, and the persistent drooling is a worthy price to pay for rested legs. Not to mention their conversations have never been deeper.
Her being the good lady of the lord that she is, gave me a few to sample. So far so good, I can't remember my legs twitching any last night.
Don't let me get off subject though. I used to have a really bad habit of that until my mom gave me these little green oval pills that have really focused my mind. Which is exactly what I need in these moments of sorrow over you, the sad drunk.
To think about you drinking a beer and laughing with friends, gives me an uncontrollable urge to cry. I found myself in such a deep fit of tears recently that my own father had to give me a sample of one of his prescriptions. That's the night that I discovered that you can't cry when you can't even hold your head up.
Again though I wish you could just find your way out of this beer haze. Just think of the people who really love you, because I'm growing tired of the worry. My friends hate seeing me this way. They have never-ending love for me and always just want to see me happy. Just last week I was staying with my best friend, and again lamenting over your sorry drunken state of being. She just couldn't stand seeing me that way so she let me in on a little secret that her doctor had prescribed her. It really seemed to do the trick. That was the night that I discovered that you can't worry when you can't even focus. She warned me that it was really for a sore back, but really it's one of those miracle cure all, gift from God type pills. Boy was she right. The thought of you drinking a beer and watching South Park completely left my mind that night.
Of course I still felt hazy minded in church the next morning, but I even discovered that the hazy mind actually helped me understand the "word."
I feel that I should wrap this up. If I can't pull you out of your drunken spiral by showing you that life is so much more than beer, then it's futile for anyone.
If only you could see how much more there is to life...
|
|
|
| Sunday, March 2nd, 2008
| |
10:45 pm - Manifesto 0.3
|
Finally after almost 4 months of bullshit, I got the pinup girl holding a beer and a book tattoo on my left forearm.
I am beyond pleased with it as well. He really pulled it off.
I don't have the patience to upload them to photobucket so if you want to see pictures just go to my myspace. There should be some pictures of the latin phrases on my wrists as well.
If you have any taste in music and like the band Motorhead, you have to read Lemmy's autobiography White Line Fever.
I also read the most of Coyote Blue by Christopher Moore and completely read my new hardcover copy of Screwjack by Hunter S. Thompson.
I believe I'll spend today drinking beer and reading Roomanitarian by Henry Rollins.
Because I'm boring like that.
Yesterday ended with a sore arm and watching Brokeback Mountain with Lindscore.
It wasn't that bad.
Well I just spent the last 2 hours cleaning up my truck and even decided to give my dad's truck a shine.
That actually made me feel semi-productive and my dad seemed appreciative.
Next I shall make a truck payment over the phone of $2,000, which will make me feel productive as well.
Booya
Ah procured the truck payments. I've only owned the truck for 4 months and I've already paid $4,000 towards it. Not bad, hopefully I can keep it up for another 37 months.
I've decided against investing in rims for it for now. I'm just going to get a spray in bed-liner and the windows tinted, and try to use all my money now to get at least one sleeve done by the summer.
I have no clue what to do with my arm now.
I got nothing but positive feedback on that bullshit I wrote for the local newspaper. I know that when it comes out next week though the shit will probably be on my face. I'm sure someone will rip me a good one. Which will help to keep me from ever doing something like that again.
Gah it's now the end of the day and I have nothing important to say.
I'm the fucking flame that moths are attracted too. Just to realize it'll be the death of them.
I'm about to wax off this case of Natural Light. It certainly wasn't the plans for the day and I'm certainly way too sober considering the facts.
God damn I wouldn't even be my own lawyer.
Who could stand to deal with, yet alone deal with such a suckfish day in and day out?
I pity you all that read this.
I pity Lindsay for putting up with me but I don't want to say it because I love it to no end that she actually does.
Fuck it:
Today 2006
today 2005
Today 2004
and lastly what a faghat was I:
Today 2003 when I just turned 18
|
|
|
| Thursday, February 28th, 2008
| |
8:53 pm - I want the abridged version
|
Vonnegut puzzles me sometimes.
I admire everything about him but I think if we knew each other in person we would be the clashing heads/hugging type.
Anyway finished Fates Worse Than Death by Vonnegut today.
I'm in a pure disgust mood.
I wish I could give up the ability to dream.
I wish I was the editor to every bit of input that I've ever had.
If that was the case though, and if the theory that life passes before your eyes right before death is true, my flashback would be severely short.
But it would be enjoyable at least.
|
|
|
| Tuesday, February 26th, 2008
| |
9:32 pm
|
I actually went out on a limb and wrote an opinion editorial for the local newspaper last week. The word limit is 250 but mine ended up being 481. I didn't figure it'd get published anyway so I kept it all intact.
Long story short the editor emailed me saying they're going to run it in it's entirety.
I actually feel worth a shit. A glimmer that maybe I'm worth more than just a body with the knowledge of blowing shit up for a coal company.
Then again giving hope and self-worth has the potential of being the worst thing you could ever do to someone.
I thought I was something fierce, I thought i was 10 tens smarter, love would be something that i just know, how you gonna know the feeling until you lost it. I been losing plenty since.
MMm new Jimmy Eat World. I had to buy the new cd again because some Jew bitch stole my last copy.
Read The Kitchen Readings by Bob Braudis, Hard Call by John McCain, and re-read Songs of the Doomed and Generation of Swine by Hunter S. Thompson.
I think The Kitchen Readings is the best reflective book on Hunter sans The Joke's Over. They're both great but both are written by different people to Hunter. Yes Ralph Steadman knew Hunter well and was close to him, but it was almost always work related. However The Kitchen Readings is pretty much wrote entirely by his neighbors. Who obviously saw alot more to him than just his work and persona.
My books from Amazon should've been in today. I have no life obviously because this excites me to no end.
Come on damnit, I have the autobiography of the legend Lemmy Kilmister coming to me tomorrow!
The bridge with Misty and myself was burned completely last week.
I have infinite patience and kindness to anyone that I've shared things in my life with. The moment you use anything private against me, fuck on ya, you're dead to me. The bridge will be burnt but I'll still be gentleman enough to not return the favor.
I'm listening to a cd that I went out to buy on the day it was released. I got to my ATM and found that I was overdrawn almost $500. Keep in mind that I'm staying at my dad's house and at the time drove a shitty ass cavalier. I had no overhead OTHER than paying for everything for Misty.
I couldn't even buy a cd even though I made $52,000 last year.
Right now I'm raising hell with Lindscore online and it's keeping me from a spiteful mood. Especially since I just got done raising hell with her via phone.
Now it's time for the new Atreyu cd.
I loathe thinking someone thinks bad of me. I can go two years being perfect to someone, but let them push me to the edge and I simply burn the bridge and all of a sudden I was an asshole from the start. The "finally he shows him trueself" bullshit line.
Honestly you know the true me, but the true me doesn't make it easier to get over shit. Paint me as an asshole, a cold heart go no where, and of course it will make things easier.
A cold heart go nowhere, shall be my new saying.
Misty knows these things are my fears, and she used them against me.
I have no use for anyone lacking of personal convictions, enough so to use personal information against someone.
Love is caring enough for someone to protect and help them in times when you should hate them.
Maybe things will be easier with the bridge burned.
I hope I don't feel wronged forever. I hate to think that Misty and her family erases everything I did for her over this.
Hell maybe that will help them deal too.
Deal with the fact that a good guy did love their daughter and would do anything for her, just to realize that she didn't really love the real him. So he did them both a favor and moved on to better things for himself.
Sorry but after all this experience that I've had with the opposite sex, I've figured out what to give up on.
Fuck I don't know.
Maybe it's the clarity.
Maybe the maturity.
Maybe even the fucked up lessons learned.
But I'm putting good odds on me and Lindscore.
--
Fuck I didn't post this last night and now it's a new day. A shitty day at that.
So I feel it almost impossible to add anything on because it will be completely different.
I'm facing a real shit day tomorrow.
I really wish I could go to work drunk sometimes.
The one plus of today was getting to actually get to the post office to get my books. I'm already 100 pages into Worse Fates Than Death by Vonnegut.
If I can just make it through the week, come saturday I'll be getting a new tattoo and of course hanging out with Lindscore.
Sometimes I think the only time I'm actually aware and alive is saturday nights and sundays. The time between the instant I clock out on Saturday and the instant I realize sunday evening that it all starts over again come tomorrow.
Oh well boo hoo what else would I do with my time, strangle hookers or maybe even pen a white power manifesto?
We all know the time is not right for said things, not yet.
Death must love the winter months.
Death prospers so much more in the winter months.
It's like it knows that everything is visually depressing.
How poetic.
I have yet to remember anyone close to me dying and have a thought of how lively and green the scenery was.
However I remember that it was so cold the day my mom passed that the top of the snow was froze. I remember the hard crunch walking to the car. I remember the many layers of clothes. I actually remember each layer to be precise. I even remember sitting in the gas station parking lot while my dad got gas and cutting my finger on a pop can from rubbing it around the edges over and over and not even realizing the cut until my younger sister made me aware of the blood.
Lindscore:(9:31:22 PM): i have the audacity to audaciously be audacious about hoping to have the audacity to hope for audacity
|
|
|
| Tuesday, February 19th, 2008
| |
9:53 pm
|
I think it's fucked up I make an account with amazon and the books they recommend are all women's literature swaying towards the liberal demographics.
Sorry I'm not interested in Women & Money: owning the Power to Control Your Destiny.
I really just want to buy hardcovers of every Vonnegut book I love but I don't think I have the means to do so.
I'm getting a hard on adding things to my cart on amazon.com
And I haven't even got out of my Vonnegut search yet.
Now that I'm on to the HST section I must say that amazon might be better than sex.
|
|
|
| Monday, February 18th, 2008
| |
9:47 pm
|
Finally got some new tattoos today.
Got a latin saying across each of my wrists.
Amor Vincit Omnia, across my left wrist and Res Ipsa Laquitur across my right wrist.
First meaning love conquers all, the second meaning it speaks for itself. Both used frequently by HST and this of course being the month he killed himself in.
I have an appointment saturday after next to get the pinup girl in a corset reading a book on my left arm.
Of course Lindscore had to one up me by getting body lights put on her car.
Gay and boring entry,
sorry
|
|
|
| Sunday, February 17th, 2008
| |
9:49 pm
|
|
Maybe a side effect of tylenol sinus day formula is pissed off paranoia
|
|
|
| Monday, February 11th, 2008
| |
9:54 pm
|
The fairtax act gives me a boner.
You must all go read the Fairtax Act by Boortz.
Obviously that's the new book I just finished.
I'm in love with the ordinary, I need a simple place to clear my head, and everything gets clear.
I love you Jimmy Eat World as well.
|
|
|
| Sunday, February 10th, 2008
| |
7:48 pm
|
Lets give the green light for all the coal to liquid fuel plants.
Use that for most of our dependancy for a good 5 years and during that time devote even more money, brains, and power to finding a better fuel than oil.
Also lets start having random drug tests for anyone on welfare. Said drug test will have a one strike policy and blacklist you for life for government assistance.
You ever wonder that maybe democracy wasn't designed for the long haul?
I'm fucking bored.
I had good times last night.
Although I will always feel bad for anyone that has to deal with me for any amount of time.
Amor vincit omnia might not count towards dealing with someone the likes of me.
Bleh.
New tattoos soon hopefully.
|
|
|
| Wednesday, February 6th, 2008
| |
8:22 pm
|
Don't it feel like sunshine after all...
Sunday was one of the top five days of my life.
I got a call from Dennis at 7:30 that night asking if I was ready to get into something. I told him well I have to be at work at 5:30 the next morning, but I'm sure it wouldn't take much to persuade me to turn in a vacation day.
Fast forward an hour and one phone call to my boss later, and I'm getting to see my best friend for the first time in over a year.
My worries that the war has changed Dennis quickly dissipated after some good ole retard and anti-god jokes.
There's a few conversations I remember with Dennis and one of the most important was when he showed up at my mom's wake. We just had a normal hilarious conversation.
That meant the world to me, just to have a normal conversation with someone that understands that they don't have to go out of their way to feel better about themselves after something horrible.
I hope I was that for him.
Because really, the war wasn't even 30% of our conversation.
What did happen very quickly was the killing of the $249 bottle of blue label scotch I had bought for the occaison. We also felt it very necessary to go out and buy a case of beer.
That decision turned out to be wise.
Sidenote JW Blue Label Scotch, is the best type of liquor I've ever ingested and I highly recommend it to anyone that enjoys scotch/whiskey.
About 3 hours into the night we decided to go out and set off all the illegal fireworks that I had in the house. After a bunch of mortars and rockets we got bored. Of course that cure was more whiskey and also to point the rockets toward the main road thats in front of my house.
Well we couldn't get the timing down right with the rockets so we started using roman candles. I had one going good as a big chevy truck drove by. Now let it be known that not at one point was the truck in danger. I had each ball exploding at 50-75 feet in front of it. Not to mention the fact that the balls blew before even reaching the road. Well evidently the guy was a faghat that couldn't take a joke. Next thing I know he's slamming his brakes. We see that he's completly stopped and brake lights are on. At this point he's maybe 75 feet past the house. Everything is still for a moment because we're all kind of freaked out, and then BAM, he shot a gun that he evidently was carrying. Then he just spun off. I don't know what he aimed at but we're all alive. We also got a good hearty laugh out of it. I mean fuck you if you can't take a joke.
Of course then we exchanged jokes about how Dennis survived a year in Iraq and after a night with me has already almost got shot.
We calmed it down after that and went back in the house to drink and talk the night away. After a bunch of emo/whiskey/beer the next thing we know it's 8 in the morning.
We decide to take a quick 4 hour nap and wake up to go get chinese food and just ride around in my truck.
The last time we hung out neither one of us had a) a vehicle b) money c) pride.
We both reflected on that, and I think we're both where we want to be.
And I don't think it's depressing this time around. Before what we wanted was drugs and escape.
I think we're both getting what we truly wanted, and not regretting it.
Prrrrride.
Yeah now I only have 9 more days off to take for the rest of the year and it's only February. It's one thing I'll never regret.
He'll be leaving on the 24th for Ranger school. Which will probably make it another year before I see him again.
Depressing, but I'm going to enjoy his time home and not worry about that jive.
He's the fuel to my fire when I'm wanting to let it all hang out, get ripped to the tits, truly go sideways. Yes my last birthday party was wild, with the breaking up with fiancee, ramming my dads truck, etc... but I know had Dennis been there for it, it would've been twice as bad. With him and myself still standing at the end just laughing about it all.
And that gives me the want and hope for the future.
That maybe that's how my life will be and end.
With someone at least there with me standing at the end, enjoying it all with me.
|
|
|
| Tuesday, February 5th, 2008
| |
10:51 pm
|
""Boy," he said, "you have to learn to drink under the withering fire of the fixed stare or the guided missile. During the war I had set up headquarters for my Irregulars in a farmhouse that was smack on the front line. It was designated at command headquarters as Task Force Hem. The Germans frequently sent patrols right into our front yard. Well, you know the artist John Groth? He came one night on his way to some assignment and we put him up. During dinner the German eighty-eights opened up and hit around us pretty good, shattering plaster and window glass; when it cleared, Groth crawled out from the potato cellar, where he had dived with the other eaters when the first pieces of plaster started flying around, and he said, 'Mr. Hemingway, how could you sit there eating cheese and drinking wine when they had us under fire?'
"'Groth,' I said, 'if you hit the deck every time you hear a pop, you'll wind up with chronic indigestion.' You going to finish your wine?""-Ernest Hemingway
|
|
|
| Monday, February 4th, 2008
| |
10:48 pm
|
"It told me something I hadn't known before: That Newton was advised by those who were his nominal supervisors to take time out from the hard truths of science to brush up on theology.
I like to think they did this not because they were foolish, but to remind him of how comforting and encouraging the make-believe of religion can be for common folk.
To quote from Kilgore Trout's story "Empire State," which is about a meteor the size and shape of the Manhattan skyscraper, approaching Earth point-first at a stady fifty-four miles an hour: "Science never cheered up anyone. The truth about the human situation is just too awful.""-Vonnegut, Timequake.
Obviously I re-read Timequake this week.
If any of you ever decide to read just one book I talk about, make it Timequake.
Much hell was raised with Dennis last night. A mixture of mortar fireworks, rockets, whiskey, beer, and a pistol.
Further detail this weekend.
|
|
|
| Thursday, January 31st, 2008
| |
6:33 pm
|
I know that time really heals nothing, it just gives you distractions.
A guy from work left and found his mom dead tuesday. He's only 21.
He was actually in class with my little sister when we found out our mom had passed.
It's not that I'm even close to him, it's just always an open wound.
I'd do anything for him to not actually have to go through this. I'd do anything for even my worst enemy to not have to live it.
I don't care if I had to walk the earth forever feeling a pain that no one else felt. With no one to talk to about it or to understand. At least I'd know no one else is having to feel it.
In positive news, Lindscore has came and visited me while I've been sick this week.
She's out right now freezing her ass off and risking her neck flagging. I passed her on my way home from work. My heart went out for her, I spent 12 hours in it today and I know how that shit is.
Fuck I am down about shit but you know what, I'll be seeing my best friend here soon, and I'm finding out more and more just how much the Lindscore effects me in positive ways.
Emofag.
I win
|
|
|
|
|
|
|