Satan paid me a visit while I was in Maryland

Upon returning to glorious Berkeley from more-humid-than-Frankie's-armpits Maryland, groggy and possibly still drunk from the night before, this poor sight is what came across my blurry (because I was tired and have astigmatism and possibly still drunk), letterbox field of vision (because I have sranty eyes. Seriously, I see life as if I were watching Conan on a standard 4:3 television):



Here's what I'm guessing happened: Beelzebub was coming up from his penthouse suite in the Flaming Slutbucket Palace apartment complex in the mirror equivalent of Westwood to come claim my wretched, cheeseburger-clogged soul, because if you take a look at His Evilness' naughty list, I somehow managed to get my name on there twice. Paul the Apostle ain't got nothin' on me. (1 Tim 1:15. Screw you Wikipedia, I cite my shit.)

Unfortunately, the brilliant men who work for Refuse Collection for the City of Berkeley failed to notice that the recycling bin was sitting directly on top of the invisible, for-demons'-and-Karl-Rove's-eyes-only super double secret elevator entrance to the nether-regions of the spiritual world. When His Wretchedness' elevator surfaced to the glory of Europe's "The Final Countdown," the vessel struck the innocent recycling bin....which melted the crap out of it and everything inside.

That, or a bunch of drunken tards thought it would be HURHUR FUCKIN AWESOME to set random shit on fire.

I like my conspiracy theory better. I'm off to eat a couple more cheeseburgers.