Good evening. Yes, it was the title of a show from the late 2000's that portrayed a younger version of Chris Rock. Well before Will Smith slapped the shit out of his at the Academy Awards in 2023. It's also kind of how I'm feeling this week. When people you don't know arbitrarily block you on social media for no apparent reason, and nobody else really wants to chat with you or ask how you're doing. You tend to feel that way. I could sense it a little bit on Thursday when I went out. I kind of alluded to it in my last post, but I felt that the energy was a bit...off. Oh, and that vindictive bar manager actually banned me from that one place. To quote the Spin Doctors, I hope them cigarettes are gonna make you cough, I hope you (read this blog), and it'll piss you off.
On top of that, one of my bartender friends had her car illegally towed before work on Thursday. Fortunately, she did get it back free of charge. But I wound up going there soaking ass wet thanks to a rogue thundershower that hit Port Richey (I thought the rain had already passed). On top of that an earlier shower caused me to miss the bus to my destination by a minute or so. Dammit.
Then came yesterday, the Fourth. No, I didn't feel like celebrating thanks in part to the Big Stupid Bill passing in Mango Mussolini signing it into law. At least thundershowers temporarily delayed the Battle of Spring Hill, even though some idiots shot off fireworks while there was lightning around (MAGA, man) 😒. But they did come out in masse once the storms passed through, and they didn't stop until 2:30 in the morning.
Yes, the Universe hasn't been kind to me this last week. Yes, everybody hates Chris.
Oh, and the fireworks are back for night two. I hate it here.
