Scraped

The bug eyed beasts with scaly intentions keep swimming through my midnight. Upon rising (at dawn’s earliest light) my ears echo with liquid not of bodily origin. I shiver-- they have broken through—against my driest wishes. My intentions are to sharpen my prized spatula (yes the one I wear in a holster on my hip) and scrape them and their slime from the insides of my head. This will require surgery of the type performed on ones self which of course would be a medical first and a good excuse to garner sympathy from attractive females. Whilst I recover I will allow select female recruits to spoon feed me beer and chapters of Hunter S. Thompson novels. In the end I will grow stronger and be better schooled in Gonzo journalism. Everyone has to have a plan right? Good, I’m glad you understand because you might be one of the beasts that gets scraped…