Team Murder No Brain No Headache.


The Magic Inherent In A Care-Free Life Will Eventually Make You Stupid

My thirty fourth year of not caring.

I was going to come up with something appropriately cynical and world weary sounding to mark the occasion but I ran out of readily assembled thoughts several hours ago. Whatever. It's three in the morning. Time for a PBR. The four year anniversary of Team Murder is also coming up next month and I doubt I'll even remember on the actual day. The increasingly dark gradient of apathy towards things you once thought were incredibly important is, I guess, what differentiates between youth and decrepitude and seems to creep into everything like static into a radio station. Anyway, I'm older.

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  1. Happy celebration of decay, pathetic human!

  2. Happy birthday, my old friend.

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