Maybe I'm not as deranged as I thought I was. Perhaps I have more of a contented essence than I thought I did.
It may be the case, that, I use commas, which I may or may not be fond of, far too often and with little regard for the flow of the sentence, or for that matter, paragraphs.
I've got the gun and the bullets but I need to start blasting bottles on the fence post before I go after the bastards who killed my fucking family. Christ, I hope I do not find some sort of inner peace before I can destroy the world, that would be absolutely awful.
Do it like this? Tell me Phil, will this work?
What if sex comes up? Just say fucking? Will that work? Well how the hell should I know?! I've never done this before. Go in guns blazing? Well, why not? Wrap that stick up with razor wire and let's find some bad times to get us through all this hunky dory bullshit.
Moderately content, it's true, but worse than either glorious or wretched... then again if I was married to my father's wife, I would revoke the sentiment. I need just enough hell to get by.
Time to do bad things.
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