WTFighter Pilot

I'm jonesing- craving something fierce. But what I'm craving can't be swallowed, smoked, shot-up or snorted. At least, I don't think so... see, I'm not sure what it is.
There's just this... need.
This need for something I don't seem to have.
This vague but insistent notion.. a hint, a flavour, a flash, a scent- of what, I'm really not sure.
It's driving me bursar. It's not something that I can sate by gorging on junk food, or drinking, or.. I don't know what.

This whole episode is starting to taste distinctly metallic. Mostly iron with copper undertones, shaded with chordite. I take that as a sign of great frustration. It tastes an awful lot like a pistol in the mouth.

Evidently, my brain's not cycling normally at the moment.

Thank you, Christianity!

Never thought you'd hear me say that, eh?

Anyway- I only go to movies at noon on Sunday from now on. Hence the thanks to my archnemesis, organized religion.

Maybe three dozen people at an opening-weekend screening of 300. Heaven.

Good flick. More fleshed out than the source material, with characters that are, more or less, worth giving a damn about. A bit melodramatic at times.

Sadly, nary a moment may pass that I do not wish to beat some member of the puplic to death with a breadbag of Jello.

Some complete tit was complaining about historical accuracy as well left the theatre. See... sigh. What the hell can I say? Once again, I hate my people, and I hate my species.