I had this really clever thing that I was going to write about. It was going to tie in perfectly to my current life, and it was going to set me free.
Problem was, once I actually wrote it, it ended up saying pretty much the exact opposite of what I'd originally thought it would say. I blame beer for this lapse in judgment.
In this case, see, the fucking glove fits perfectly. Like my own skin, it fits. So acquittal is out of the question. Guilt is certain. Beyond a reasonable doubt. Even beyond an unreasonable doubt. Beyond a shadow of any kind of doubt whatsoever.
I'm guilty as fuck.
It really was a good idea for a while, though.
There. I think this is cryptic enough to pass my internal censors.