I have entered a completely catatonic state. My synapses have stopped rerouting and responding – I am a brainless Zombie, I crave flesh – or pizza. In fact, pizza would be really fucking nice right now.

The truth is – at least at this point – that the jug of red wine, the flask of whiskey, and all of the pot has completely caught up with me. I might as well be functionally retarded.

It’s currently 4:45AM – I’ve been awake for fifteen hours, and I still have another seven hours and fifteen minutes ahead of me. I’m confined to a plastic chair, with this, tiny, red, and ridiculously uncomfortable cushion amidst a classy, rustic, 1930’s-esque movie theater. This year is my second pilgrimmage to this theater – The Music Box – where I parttake in yearly 24 hour marathon of B-Movies. The mindless explosions, blood-thirsty zombies, and (at least in the case of this year) distressingly ugly killer babies, that vaguely resemble the baby from the 1990’s show ‘Dinosaurs.’
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