The Harder They Come, The Harder They Fall

Can you really complain if God has been miraculously, inexplicably feeding you manna in the desert for 40 years and then decides to stop one day out of the blue and leave you to fend for yourself in the cruel, bitter world? Can you get mad at him and complain that you are entitled to it, and get angry when he tells you to fuck off and deal with it because he's been helping you out this long and he thought by now you'd figure out how to find food for your fucking self?

No.

Sadly this is what I believe to be a perfect metaphor for our Internet connection at the flat, which we have been stealing from "the bloke upstairs who would never know what was going on", according to the landlord. Well, I don't know what happened but it didn't work all day yesterday and I'm starting to think we may have to accept our sad, sad fate. I am to be regulated by London Center and library and Internet cafe hours until December. Is there anything worse in the world? Yes. But this still sucks. So now we're wandering lost in the desert and have nothing to eat and have to wait until the local desert gas station opens at specific hours during the day so that we can buy candy bars and frozen pizzas. This metaphor has gotten worse as it continues, but what can I say, I'm hungry. I mean, I have no Internet at my home. Yeah, that's what I mean.

But also the title of my post is really clever because The Harder They Come is the name of a musical we saw last night. So basically this has been a wonderfully crafted if horrifically tragic and strangely religious blog post.

Somberly,

Adam