The cold lump within my torsal cavity.

OK, so I know I've been quiet. First, this... Ah, fuck already did that one. Awesome track, nevertheless. Kinda random, but... The boy hadn't called. Not that I was doing any of this. Or that. And certainly none of this But I also couldn't write. A little extreme. I was a lump of emotional hurtbag. In a completely unrelated matter, I have 20 cc's of norgestimate and ethinyl estradiol coursing through my veins. I'm back on the wagon. I'm getting it on the regular. The boy called. Last night. Late. Quite late. Even later then you're imagining. So I'm contemplating a 3am booty-call. What would Irish say? IRISH: Go for it, RonRon. ME: Don't call me RonRon! What would Jesus do? And of course, this is the image that immediately comes to mind. But then realise it's all a moot point, because I'm, saying YES!! to everything. Always nice to stamp the summer BINGO card. Let me play you out.