My homework is going to kill me.
Death by Latin. Killed by a bunch of dudes who died 2000 years ago. It seems vaguely poetic.
If someone does find me dead tomorrow, tell Scarlett I do give a damn and Tiny Tim that I won't be home to make fun of him this Christmas. He'll probably be happy and dance on my corpse.
Plectrum status: the little clip thing on the chain is broken. I need to fix it.
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