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“It gets better, Sunshine.   You’re coming with me.”

And there it was.   Sometimes – just sometimes – things happen just at the right fucking time, don’t they?   Mostly not, of course – tempus fugit, so impolitic importunities are usually the fish of the diem, and you’re left telling stories about the carpe that got away.   But sometimes the deus are actually in the machina, and your friend’s gambling addict father wins an obscene sum of money which he presses her to spend, and she tells you ad hoc that you’re up for a cut of the spoils.

You know what this means, right?

That I’m going to Europe.   Yeah, thanks Captain Obvious.   Sic.   Guess again.

That I have to quit the dead-end job.   Hell yeah I’m calling pax there, but that’s not the best part.

Ipso facto, it means I’ve got an actual ticket out of here.   My call, my choice of turf, my offensive, et cetera.   And that’s a far more attractive opportunity than anything previously.   Fate has insisted on offering me up a nice, clean tabula rasa to write a revenge tragedy on, and I’m finally ready to sharpen the pencil.


In other latin, veni, vidi, vici will be in my near future – as will memento mori for the creature that has invaded my opus,  plagued my fucking life, and left me eternally scarred.


Oh – and Brix.  

While I’m at it, I’ll probably kill him deader than a dead language too.

Mea culpa.





  1. Memento* mori.

    Just saying. It’s a latin phrase that has always appealed to me much more than “carpe diem”.

    • Fuck typos… It’s always been my catchphrase as well…

  2. Ego can non puto is est non yogurt

  3. But “de gustibus non disputandum” ,isn’t it?

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