Wonder if I can start by explain that no, I wasn't suicidal. I was just thinking of sticking one up to the big man at the top, and spending a very long period of time in a very hot and sulphur-y place, according to the Catholic Church.
You know... Perfectly rational and normal me...
Argh, fuck it.
I'll see you later. If, of course, I don't see a broken window and decide that actually, yes, my blood does look dashing on the ground. All eight pints of it, making the floor rather slippery.