My friends want me dead.

All names, situations, health hazards and general disregard for a sane and reasonable lifestyle depicted here are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons, living, dead or soon to be, is purely coincidental.

Kai: Mosh’mosh’!!!

Dave: Shin Nakano Suicide Hotline, what may I do for you?

Kai: Dave, I know it’s you.

Dave: Barely.

Kai: Where are you? get your ass over here.

Dave: Sorry: I’m sure it’s a great party, but I think I’m gonna pass on this. I badly need some rest.

Kai: Man. Get over here. NOW.

Dave: Really, I’m sorry… I would. But all I can think about is: my bed, some hot chocolate and a good movie.

Kai: Sakamoto Ryuichi is standing less than 3 feet away from me now.


Kai: Get fucking a-moving.


Dave: Do you know how much sleep I’ve had in the past 3 days? I currently look like what a 70 year-old crack whore raped by a meth-addicted raccoon might give birth to.

Kai: Sakamoto. Ryuichi.

Dave: Oh: and I finally succeeded at dislocating entirely both shoulders at the gym tonight. I can’t raise my arms above waist-level. I would need a 3-ft long straw to drink anything from a glass.

Kai: Sakamoto Fucking Ryuichi.

Dave: I am one hour of sleeplessness away from paranoid dementia. Random acts of senseless violence cannot be too long to follow.

Kai: Sa. ka. mo. to. Ri. yu. i. chi.

Dave: You have really sworn my demise, haven’t you…

Kai: Great. Get a cab. See you in 20.

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