BRoss Style

You'll have to excuse me, I've been fighting... some sort of flu or some shit, for the last couple of days. It's some shit Rafa passed on to me, like always. He's the one that goes out and catches shit form grimy-ass people and he randomly just passes it off to me.
Rafa: Quit blaming all this shit on me.
Me: I've been PERFECTLY fine up until you came back. It's just like with the cold sore. You're the one who goes off and hangs out with infected people and I'm the one who has to live with the consequences.
Rafa: Oh. Shut. Up. "Live with the consequences," what is this, AIDS?

Ok, Ok, I'll admit it... I'm Howard Hughes.
OCD, reclusive... anti-social.
Nah, I just DON'T WANT TO GET SICK.
I'm a clean slate... for the most part.
So if you deal with germ-carrying kids, I won't hang around you with much ease... but Rafa... he'll let any damn kid put their dirty little hands in his mouth if they want to.
So... because of that (or maybe he was just making out with a sloppy-ass bitch at a bar-- as is his custom-- and she just so happened to be ill), here you have me... sick.
Damn it.


I locked myself in my room and painted. (See, the "reclusive" thing)
I tried the Bob Ross style this time.
A winter scene. (Anti-social thing. My world-view is bleak)
I should DEFINITELY stick to comics.


My life is fucking exciting right now. Be jealous.