All of me, why not take all of me?

I can feel it. I can feel the cheap shiraz and the Amstel light mixing in my stomach, giving me the finger. I can feel it. I can feel this week of too much beer, too many cigarettes, and too much work. Fuck the office and the energy-sucker fluorescent lighting. Yeah, I can feel it. My house is a mess, all my clothes are in the washer, and I'm wearing shorts. It's too cold for shorts. I can feel it. When I came to the computer right now, the browser window was on "crustaceans.net." What the fuck? I can feel it. Our couch-crasher raises lobsters in an aquarium in the basement of his parents' house. Yup, lobsters. I can feel it. The demonic ice-cream trucks are spreading like rabbits in heat. That -- I can hear, and I can feel it. Damn them and their tasty ice-cream sandwiches and their evil music spreading like a disease through the neighborhood. Molly's tail just hit me where it don't feel good. I can feel it.