Bleating out a suspender-coated "Did I Do That"?

The Lord of all things evil really does spawn from the six.

Six strings.

Placed on a guitar, they make for utter and unspeakable torment of the soul (barring the existence of one, which in my case is a bit of a stretch).

Why?

Because after shelling out hundreds of dollars from a far too patient teacher....

I. Still. Suck.

Truely, when I came forth unto this world, my existence was cursed. Witheld from me at the very earliest moment, was the talent to do the one thing that I've always aspired. My brain was warped, and these claws of mine were poisoned. Never, will such a victory be mine. Forever will I wallow in the land of the utterly tone deaf, clumsily picking at an out of tune string.

Add a gravestone in the land of Bitter, we've another dead desire.

Mind you, I'll still keep these insturments of my demise, if only to serve as a true testament to the utter pointlessness of everything.

How I love pessimism.