Nothing's Gonna Stand in My Way
You may be asking "Where is Casey? Has he fallen off the wagon? Did he take too much valium and never wake up? Have homosexual NAZIs kidnapped him and forced him to reenact the childhood of Adolf Hitler in hopes of creating a new Color-Coordinated Fuhrer?"
No, no my little kiddies. No such nonsense has happened. Although, I'm now in the single digits: 9 days, I think. I'm just tryin' to get ta heaven, before they close the doors. And by heaven, I mean March 31st, and by doors, I mean my rabid impulse to consume THC. It's a metaphor actually, so you can't just cut and paste nouns onto other nouns and have it make sense. JESUS!
My status: I'm operating within normal parameters. Still pixelpushin', still not loving tha police! I've found that I have far more partial to Marijiwanna than alcohol. I'm not nearly as tempted by the endless stacks of beers that permanent inhabit our refridgerator as I am the 14 Js that live inside my desk drawer. I'm dealing though.
The joysticks were repaired on the local SF2 machine, however, the bigoted moron that runs the place does a half-assed job. It's still unplayable, and hence a huge disappointment. Despite the fact that I have the roms and an emulator to play SF2 at home, it can't match the exhilaration of fighting for the worth of your quarter. Perhaps it is just the dying dream of a child now grown. That game WAS made in 1991.
Alas, I will not be able to attempt a new jaunt at the Hi Score for several weeks now I fear.
Take it all in, you sycophants. You won't have my desperation to feed off of for long. Instead, I will be inviting you over to this den of denial to aid in my reintoxication. Coming soon.