Today is my birthday. I worked today, and have to work tomorrow. The new people we're working for are a bunch of retarded Amherst Folken. We all got jobs through the unemployment agency, right? On the third or fourth day of work, a guy takes a bunch of someone elses tools, makes up a story about his step-father having a heart attack (the mans wife later called later, and ended up saying her father was absolutely fine, but her husband was suppossed to be at work). The guy pawns all the tools, buys crack, and is found shortly there-after in an incoherant state.
That being said, my big badass wall-crushing party is tomorrow. It's a combination of a 'we are getting evicted party' and 'birthday party'. Who knows if anyone will be left standing, when the sun comes up saturday morning.
I'm hoping for lsd. And lots of it.