"get the feeling one
talks to one's self and leaves the
evidence behind"...

Sort of like masturbation w/o cleanup.
I do that in hotels.
That stucco on the ceiling...
well, you get the idea.

Nothing we do matters.
Give sandwiches to the homeless.
Go on a mass murder spree.
It will soon be forgotten.
Although... I do make a pretty good fucking sandwich if I say so myself. Arthur Dent worthy, I would say.

I might go pick up some beef... maybe caribou.
Sandwiches are in order. Live for the moment.
That's all we can do. Oh how fucking profound I am!...

Sammich time!