is that sometimes i get real productive on them, and other times i get real mean. this is an other time. primal rage looking for an excuse to exercise itself. a scream looking for a mouth to wail from. a right hook looking for a cheekbone to connect with.
i wish it scared me; but it feels like home. i should have been born a bouncer or a boxer or a defensive lineman.. come at me, just once, i am begging you. instead i just write this shit. poor excuse for a tough guy.
Of course, in this particular state of unmind, thank you prednisone, 44 is a good number to be, and a good number to weave my fingers around too.
"I know what you're thinking. Did he fire six shots or only five? Well, to tell you the truth, in all this excitement, I've kinda lost track myself. But being as this is a .44 Magnum, the most powerful handgun in the world, and would blow your head clean off, you've got to ask yourself one question: Do I feel lucky? Well, do ya punk?" - 'Dirty Harry' 1971