This is the end...my beautiful friend

I screwed up.
(That is a a beautiful sentence. I like that sentence for the same reason i like Oceans 11 or You’ve Got Mail...functionality. You see..it sets out with a purpose and accomplishes just that. No frills, no bullhorns on the sides going all out, no small bells and little pink ribbons all over it. It doesnt latch on to some cute phrase that happens to be around and make a fool of itself. It means to convey something and does just that ¬- some amount of self-debasement, a sense of irony and a sort of coming-to-terms with a few cosmic constants.)

So..I screwed up.The how, when and where of it will probably be known only to some middle-aged uptight prick poring over his paper knowing for certain that his alimentary canal will rise to the occasion only when he has tortured himself enough with it to satisfy his sadomasochistic outlook of life. But the limited impact zone of the error is little compensation to the narrator who is looking over his shoulder at small mushroom cloud spreading over his personal past. The shock waves have shredded the cloak of invincibility that used to reach from the bloated ego to the unsure feet. The gaping holes have exposed rotten green flesh. No longer the dirty past of cocksureness to fall back on. Mortality, that dirty little bastard, is sitting on the roadside with a smug face as I pass on.
(A long drag. A tunnel of smoke. poooofff)
Fuck.