I leave for New York in just a few hours. My car is mostly packed but I need to figure out how to fit the last of my stuff into it, and I just can’t shake this feeling of “What the fuck am I doing?”
It’s National Daiquiri Day and there’s a hell storm brewing outside? Looks like I’ll be enjoying a Hancock Daiquiri (dark rum, heavy on the lime) while working on the Encyclopedia of New York Restaurants. Until I go see Soul Rebels later tonight as part of my Leaving New Orleans Tour.
I want to get rich so that I can pay off all of my debt and never—ever—have to deal with the 30 different stupid fucking companies that manage my student loans, my credit cards, my everything-else, because none of these companies give a flying fuck about their customers or making any of their products easy to use. All I want to do is talk to a human being who can help with my issues.
Fuck them, and fuck my past bad financial decisions that have gotten me to this point.
If the NFL can’t handle DJ Williams’ piss tests, how can they handle the entire bounty investigation, prosecution and appeals process?
Holy shit they need an independent arbiter.