no juice.

duders,
it's after eight o'clock at night,
completing yet another underrewardinglybrutal day
tattzap blasting on some ninjas who needed what i had.
yeah.
like hand drawing  about a billionteen teensy tiny scales
on another 'nother dragon-style tattbomb,
and as a result,
i've got no juice left.
y'know?
like,
no sauce.
except maybe some weak sauce.
and that's not so good, now is it?
no.
it isn't.
cramped quarters,
and tight lines,
and hours and hours of outlining the defining
strokes and contours an' that,
and now my right hand is twice the size of my left one-
swollen like a magnum mitt,
with super-sized sausages where my spindly spider
fingers were previously prestidigitating.
sore?
only when i type.
awwwwwwwwwwwwww.
c'mon.
sometimes,
life is pain.
you know it, neighbors.
anyone who tells you otherwise?
yuuuuuuuuuuup.
they're selling something.
and unless it's a little juice?
i'm not buying.
huh?
early bedtime?
fine,
you won't have to twist my arm;
never quiet, never soft.....