Mr. Cellophane

In a location adjacent to a place in a city of some significance, what comes out of my head is plastered on the walls of this blog.

Tuesday, July 02, 2013

[Ignore this. The pillowbiters at Blogger wouldn't let me post this without a title.]

February 16th, 9:23am

'Tickets for #SDCC go on sale this morning. I'm going this year, bitches!'

A little crude for most of my followers, but I don't care. The work schedule's free, the money is available, the stars align. Things are going smashingly for me...shit. My parents beckon. What could they want?


Well, that was a soul-crushing morning. Mowing the lawn, followed by helping them move some stuff upstairs. No doubt about it: there's too much crap in this house. I regularly suggest selling it or burning it, but nothing ever happens. I think if someone else made these suggestions, they'd get done. It's the same thing at work; if I say that something ought to be done, it won't, but if another person does, they can't get done fast enough.

What's the point of having an opinion if no one will listen? Free will. What a con.

Oh, fuck.

I fire up my phone and hope to every God that ever was I haven't missed anything (my computer has become e'er so unreliable this last year).

I punch the 'Internet' button. I enter 'San Diego Comic-Con' into the search engine.

I touch on the link to I rush toward the waiting room...

'Sorry, but all tickets to Comic-Con are sold out'.

Son of a bastard.



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