The annual festivus came and went as quickly and painlessly as possible. Luckily. Among the presents that I did receive — even though I insisted that I wanted (deserved) nothing — was a robe. This robe, along with a shaveless month (and the resultant facial growth) and the recent upswell in hermit-like behaviour (torn pants and all), has left me a little, as the French say, hoboesque. The following photo is a good approximation of what I currently look like:
Then again, equating myself with The Dude isn’t necessarily apt. For one, I don’t bowl. Anymore. Secondly, I haven’t had sex with any pretentious feminist artfags.
Other than that — and excluding various adventures and encounters with nihilists — the parallels are there. Come to think of it, I now know what my new year’s resolution will be…