Blasphemous Rumours.

I don't want to start any Blasphemous Rumours, but with each passing birthday, I become increasingly convinced that the universe in which I live was in fact created by Depeche Mode, and that Dave Gahan is my Personal Jesus. I'm pretty much a figment of his wild, genius imagination, born from an opiate-induced hallucination and made entirely out of Synth and moonbeams. Hey, Nothing's Impossible. That is the Policy of Truth.

So, today is my birthday. It would have been the Sweetest Perfection to Enjoy the Silence, But Not Tonight. The Bottom Line is that it was a Black Celebration. It's No Good. But that's okay. It's a Pain That I'm Used To and I Just Can't Get Enough. While I would like to be the Happiest Girl in this World Full of Nothing, I'm just a Sister of the Night and I Suffer Well.

While I could continue to tell my life story in only Depeche Mode song titles, I would be remiss in my snarky observational duties if I failed to mention that today has been named The Russian Day of Conception. Everyone in Russia is bumping uglies and knocking boots in the spirit of Nationalism, and they actually get the day off of work to do this. And we wonder why there are earthquakes in Indonesia.
It sure serves me right for bitching about how my birthday is forever overshadowed by a national tragedy. This year, my birthday has not only been overshadowed by a national tragedy, but also Rosh Hashanah, Ramadan AND Russian Sex Day.
God, Yahweh, Allah and Russia are all telling me to go suck it. Thanks guys. I get it.

This revelation prompted me to pen this short missive to my life's architect:

Dear Dave Gahan,
God does have a sick sense of humor. What do you plan on doing about this?
Love Jtron

I eagerly await his response.
It's just A Question of Time.

Goodnight Lovers.



Edit 9/15/07:
It suddenly occurs to me what a strange astrological phenomenon it would be to have an entire country full of Geminis.