What the hell was I thinking. The Girl Who Played with Fire was such a good book, I decided somewhere between 9 and 10pm last night, fuck it, I was going to finish.
This morning I can report three things:
1. The book was damn good. I mean, damn, damn good.
2. Hindsight, staying awake until 4AM might have been... I dunno. Foolish comes to mind right now. Also, bananas but cut me a break, I am smelling piña coladas.
3. I hope the snakes I am seeing all over the floor are on account of exhaustion, because I am not about to get all Indiana Jones up in here.
Not sure a caffeine IV is going to suffice today. I need espresso bullets fired on the quarter hour straight into my skull.
According to my calculated sleep schedule, I can go to sleep on any even number and be ok, its the odd numbers that throw everything off.
Of course I say this knowing that 2PM is going to barrel down like a freight train, on a broken track, being driven by The Jackal from Thir13en Ghosts.
Snakes on a Printer, starring Samuela el. Fraction.
This morning I can report a few more things.
Boxing is extremely useful, sign me up.
Smile in your passport photo. You never know.
Armenian's are always awesome, no matter what your assumption.
Prostitution is not all its cracked up to be, study hard in school, kiddies.
Sweden, though they may have fish and the coolest chef on The Muppets, may be silently crazier than I had previously assumed. Back to the drawing board.
Crime DOES pay but fucking hell is the Luxury Tax a pain in the ass and if you ever land on Boardwalk or Park Place, you can kiss your sweet ass goodbye, straight to jail, do not pass go, do not collect $200.
Always call for backup, geez. It's like they have never made a single movie where NOT doing so yielded positive results. Idiots.
I would love to bare my teeth and swish my tail back and forth in the dust while crouched over some vile manner of prey.
Girls just wanna have fun. That's all they really want. Some fun.
SSSSSSSssssss. sssssssssssss. ssssssssssss.