Now's the part where I explain my absence to you delightful people, isn't it?
Well, let's say it involved a medically-induced coma, a brief stint at a rehab clinic to get off the painkillers, and a whole bunch of bullshit to avoid getting my ass fired, killed or, worse, arrested.
Explanation: Burglary gone wrong.
Actuality: An unconscious beating by the ever-understanding Oz. You hear me, fucker? I know you read this, so let's get things clear: I won't post shit about what you do on a day-to-day basis. I will, however, keep posting my own affairs. You can disagree with that, but you can also kill me. So whatever.
I've been on overtime. Been on such a variety of uppers like you wouldn't believe. Taking down maybe three of the little fuckers a night. It's a lot of goddamn work. The killing, the hauling, the stripping. Barely enough time to take a piss.
My fucking desk's a mess. I don't even bother shaving on weekends anymore. There's just so much goddamn research to do. Have you ever tried figuring out someone's routine based on what you can find on the internet? Not easy. If I can do all this shit AND remain employed, you think you people would manage to stay alive. Yeah, I know, tough Lovecraftian shit is coming after you, wah wah wah. Tried getting bloodstains out of a suit you have to wear the next morning, getting rid of the bags under your eyes, slapping on a shit-eating grin and showing up to work every god damn morning with people who will eat you alive if you break for a single goddamn second, then get off work and go straight to smashing some fucking bitch's nose into their skull, stripping the body to get rid of evidence and finding a wet spot so it'll clean itself before sunrise?
Well fuck you too.