A God among men and a man among Gods.

I am currently in the most emotionally distraught state I think I have ever been in over a death.

I've had a lot of things come and go, but there has always been one constant: Batman. But now, after reading Final Crisis #6, my world has been completely shattered, like that television screen we took a sledge hammer at the creek behind my old apartment.
I was hoping that this could have been one of Bruce's many doubles, but so far, all his proteges have been seen from, except for the man himself.

Until I find out that he somehow managed to escape fate I will probably be a mess who no one will want to talk to. I'll be even worse than when Kurt Vonnegut died.

(And I have never said this before, but hopefully everyone in the DC offices will give a good bitch slap to Grant Morrison, and also at least half the office should key his car... I'm serious.)

R.I.P, Batman, until I find out that this is one of your crazy charades that you like to do.

The Point Where All Our Ghosts Meet

I've been thinking this morning in my sleepless daze about relationships, mainly of the man I would like to have a relationship with, and I have come up with my own personal idea of the perfect man. So, um, here he is:

He would be at least two years older than me. Currently attending college for arts or music, whichever, I'm not picky, just as long as he's not in philosophy, I don't want to date someone in the same group as I am.

He will also be slightly taller than me, at least where I can lean down and rest my forehead on his chin, because that's an awkward thing I like to do. Maybe a little on the average side, beer gut welcome, and bearded, with a manly beard.

As far as personality goes, he should be nice, witty, smart; cause nigga better be able to read.

And he should drive a car, have a love for Jose Saramago, and a desire to live in Malta.

Not that much, but there he is, the perfect man... I may have just described 92% of all the guys I have ever been friends with, well, that's creepy.