Apocalypse Dudes

This is what happened:
After a series of trials in the real world I retreated meekly back to the Swamp and have spent the last five or six hours alternately listening to Bathory and Turbonegro. Not album by album, but chronologically mixing Bathory's Viking period (Blood Fire Death through Twilight of the Gods) and Turbonegro's Denim phase (Ass Cobra through the sub-par Scandinavian Leather) track-by-track, whilst alternating my usual intoxicant with this ominous 30-pack of sugary-ass cream Ale that was gifted to me.
It's probably counterproductive to try and force some kind of cosmic revelation just by sitting around drinking crappy beer and pounding on the keyboard with your hooves. But if it does happen, if you finally put all the pieces together and your life seems to just snap right into place after all your hard work giving up your former life as a little babyfaced hustler and just listening to NPR and finally brushing your teeth and doing whatever, if that's what it's come to, then do it. Good for you.
Don't think nobody's watching, though.

Wait, what?