I've buried a friend this year. I've never really buried anyone close to me before. He was the ex-husband of a dear, dear friend of mine. I wrote the damn eulogy, but was sat with my spine against the back-wall of the chapel when it was read, 'cause I ain't family. I've dealt with a lot of crap this year. I'm about to start making a motion picture. It's a challenge, t'be sure. I'm so stressed, I had my very-first migraine last night. I never want to do that again. I could just do with putting a couple dozen rounds downrange. 'Course, I'm in England - so I'm be some kind of commie mutant secret-society member for that urge. Someone please cap off a couple for Bog tomorrow - OK? Call them my Birthday Bullets - I'm 29 on Monday. Thanks... just venting... a shooting range would make me feel so much better, but I'm not even allowed a .22. Damn.