Never OD, never grow old, and never die
Murdoc grumbles and whines at his alarm, slapping at it with one sharp-nailed hand. Bloody thing. No fucking right to be waking a man so early. It's inhumane. This makes him think of capturing the cat in the house and nailing it's tail to the floor. At least he gets his first laugh of the day early.
He stretches and coughs, lighting a cigarette and scratches himself through worn and stained tighty-whities as he plods to the kitchen. School, he feels, can go directly to hell and fuck itself along the way. Still, he pours himself a wake-up coffee half-full of whiskey and gets ready for his day. That dullard, Tusspot, had better be there. The idiot needs a fucking attitude adjustment and quick. No one fucks with Murdoc's band.
No one.
He stretches and coughs, lighting a cigarette and scratches himself through worn and stained tighty-whities as he plods to the kitchen. School, he feels, can go directly to hell and fuck itself along the way. Still, he pours himself a wake-up coffee half-full of whiskey and gets ready for his day. That dullard, Tusspot, had better be there. The idiot needs a fucking attitude adjustment and quick. No one fucks with Murdoc's band.
No one.