Humans simply cannot leave well enough alone, which stomps me into why a film like Buddy needed to be made. An antithesis to Kong, since the classic was in production when Gertrude Lintz was raising her orphan? I realized after waiting for the tepid conclusion to a blithering narrative, which consisted mainly of juvenile chimpanzees carrying the film, that I've been alive long enough to have a memory link. I remember Massa. I remember this creature and his death, in an affinity almost too obvious. The CNA I was reluctant to hire never materialized. She took the wrong bus. This bodes well.
Now I am sick, and canceled my meeting with her tomorrow, and don't have the energy to post another Craigslist advertisement. Using the Haitian as a back up is null and void. I never wanted no cleaning assistance at all, but this consumes so much time, finding replacements for servile and obstinate bastards.
People will say anything to those with developmental conditions, then leave them hanging on a precipice, piss and moan at our funerals later with crocodile tears.
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