Confessions of a Not-So-Teenage Dirtbag

The tricky part about not owning a computer is when you suddenly have full use of one, trying to pry yourself away from it proves to be incredibly difficult.  This results in a lack of productivity, and therefore, I am completely empty-art-handed.
I also find myself a little poor..er.  The internet has reached out to me with its grubby fingers and tricked me into subscribing to Netflix.  I feel as though spending any more time exploring these so-called Series of Tubes may cause permanent damage to my wallet, as well as my innocence.  I mean, $4.99 a minute(or should I say, per browser?) doesn't look quite so bad when the only thing I have to look forward to in my immediate future is walking in the bitter cold for 30 minutes so I can work for 480.  Okay, no, not really.  Because $5 is way too much to pay for any sort of pornography - I know because The West Wing told me so.

On a completely unrelated note, I think it should be said that I am a needy, high-maintenance little turd of a chronic worrier.  Don't ever date me.  The next year is going to be long and dreadful, but I will fight.  Because thanks to Pat Benatar, I am prepared for...well, fighting.
And since this is an "art blog" and I feel obligated to post something of the sort, I have dug up what I think is an appropriate picture I drew back in '05.
So, thank you, P. Benatar.  You have given birth to one of my favorite one-liner-song-titles ever.  These are words to live by, people.
Next up:  Hell is for Children.  Illustrated with or without the Corinthian, I've yet to decide.

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