If you’re reading this, then you should be aware that I’m off gallivanting around on the Camino Madrid en route to Santiago de Compostela. God willing, this will be my third Camino.
Because fuck, why not that’s why.
I will also accept fuck you, that’s why as an acceptable answer.
Now that the stupid questions are out of the way, let’s get down to brass tacks.
I’m fuckin’ knackered, folks. I walked approximately 31 kilometers today (whatever that means in American) and crossed a mountain range that was higher (and far steeper) than the Pyrenees. My fat, chain-smokin’ ass managed to make it without dying (and in good time, I might add).
The words aren’t coming to me at the moment, and I shall blame that upon the throbbing in my knees and the e’er oppressive sun. Instead of whitty banter and colorful uses of the word fuck, enjoy this picture dump.
Good. Great. That’s all you get. Now excuse me while I rub my feet and say every curse word I know to feel better about myself.