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BEHIND ENEMY LINES

I’m sending out this dispatch from deep behind enemy lines. I live my life in Boston, Massachusetts. I know, I know. Every day, I knock heads with the worst of the worst: knuckleheaded Bruins fans. They come at me constantly, fade haircut after fade haircut. They all talk trash about the Habs in that same mind-numbing accent, the one that pretty much crosses the line into an all-out speech impediment.

I walk among them.

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Until Further Notice

Further updates must be tabled until the packing of my accumulated crap and transportation of said crap to Nashville is complete.

This is bittersweet. Updating this blog has been my favorite method of procrastinating from the packing of the accumulated crap. I had many more exhibits which would have richly illustrated the how’s and the why’s of my getting kicked out of New England. I’m worried that once I arrive in Nashville, these items will no longer be newsworthy.

PK is surely down there right now, waiting for me with feverish anticipation. He even posted an instagram story of him doing squats. He’s obviously preparing to help me 2-man my dresser from the loading dock to my apartment on the 21st floor.

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