Fuck Statistics. Tuesday Night. Bears, and fishing.

Set out just as pretty as you please.  I was going to go catfishing with my pal Dave. Dave is a ridiculous human.  In the best possible way.  I was looking forward to the evening...catching fish and all...it's tuesday for christ's sake.  Helluva plan.  Sooooo...rolling along...rolling along...CRASH!  I HIT and KILLED a bear with my brother and sister-in-law's van.  Now, if you are anyone that knows my brother and I...you would know how amazing this is.  It's really really sad too..I'll get to that in a minute.  I do truly feel bad about it, but I was helpless.  Back to this in a second....Cool.  So, it's amazing because my brother Ben and I are fascinated by bears.  Particularly in being attacked by one.  We are both genuinely afraid to walk around our block during the warm summer months.  Bears.  There could be bears.  And...Goddamnit...there ARE bears.  You who see me as crazy...are the fools.  I hit and killed a bear tonight.  Knocked his leg CLEAN OFF.  For rizzeal too.  Knocked it's leg off.  Back to the feeling bad...well, I feel bad.  I killed a bear.  Couldn't have swerved.  Couldn't have.  Woulda flown off a nice little cliff.  I hate that it happened.  I'm also in shock.  A deer...I could somehow get past.  But...I ran down a 250-300 pound black bear.  Fucks a dude up.  I was the guy in the vehicle that perfectly alligned to hit that bear.  I am that statistic.  Got no time for you and your "You know what the odds are of being hit by lighting?"  Nonsense.  Somebody is that statistic.  It's absolutely the story of my life to be that very thing.  Call me ultraphobic.  I call it being an 'altered' realistic. 

New music coming soon,
Bruce.