For a few hours I obsessed over this theory that the cartridges were buried in a landfill in Alamogordo.

I was feeling so sorry for myself because of the way that I felt. Awful.

Art is useless, but it is an indispensable uselessness.

I spend all my time in complete focus, absolutely crushing my goals and growing my business and side hustles. Every. Single. Day.

My cellmate and I shared a jar of urine.

It was the best job in the whole prison, I thought, standing there by the door, freeing people.

In prison again. Fuck!!! This shit sucked donkey balls.

I recently played a game for the NES called Ghostbusters.

The cop genocide progress bar is about .00047% full.