It’s the sick people who make me do these things.
Granted, Grampa was not a sick one. I feel bad about killing him. That changed everything. I wish Crystal would hold my feet to the fire sometimes.
Who else would believe this story (Frankie and all)? And it’s not like she believes it (even though it’s true), she just checks to see if we have any cognac.
And then there’s Frankie, hanging out at my house all the time. I guess I don’t have to worry about that, but if people would just act right or just stay the fuck out of my hair I could go about doing these things I have to do.
These fucking children. What will become of them? Who will ever hire them to do anything? Who will save them from the beatings that must surely await them? Shouldn’t I be able to beat them? Wouldn’t the world be a better place if I beat the shit out of all of them?
I don’t have a driver’s license anymore. What’s that got to do with anything? The thought occurs to me that I would steal Sharon’s car if I had a driver’s license. I could find Big Joe and force him to slaughter everybody at the party. I could make Charles Manson look like a piker. But I don’t have a driver’s license. Did Charles Manson have one?
What kind of fucked up world is this? This is my point. This is why I must stay hammered. To save lives.