This month has been an angry, syphilitic, charging rhinoceros. Blinded by rage. Driven mad by stress and disasters. A gargantuan beast bent on destruction and desperate to trample me.
Somehow I outlasted you, you fat piece of shit locomotive from the Nine Hells. In a few hours the calendar will snip off your rotting cock and toss it to the seagulls. Who will refuse to eat it, opting instead to bury it at low tide. Even seagulls know useless meat when they see it.
So Piss Off, you evil god damned month. Don't come back. Run blindly into the sunset until your black little heart explodes and drops you like a skilled rifle shot from a distant six-gauge.
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