Jeez-um-craw, dorkwads, I've had a busy day. Or maybe it was a busy past couple of days, hmmm, hmmm? And did I mention I am not feeling well?
I've been on a productive spree. I have done my taxes, switched my cell phone to a hipper flip phone, paid bills, seen sites I've meant to see, spent time with my R. babe, caught up on films I want to see, re-organized my office slowly but surely (my official name plate came today, I'm officially non-official) maintained a healthy diet, caught up on sleep, and other things which I'm sure a pointless to list because who is really reading this far.
Update on my Hendrix-drinking experience the other night ... I have no idea what I'm talking about. I remember seeing a painting of Hendrix eating a bowl of soup and I was thinking that it was something "at the Mecca", but now I can't find it anywhere. I think I just saw the place, thought "Oh, a cafe, they have soup, Hendrix ate soup in a picture, Hendrix was there" and went in. Curses, my demi-tourist status/faultifourous logic fooled me again!
Anyways, I forgot to mention that there were a bunch of clowns there. Not jerks, actual clowns. Real live fucking clowns in a bar. Can you wrap your head around this? Imagine clowns being anywhere. Weird, right? Now imagine seeing a clown's face as you sip bourbon. This is my life.
Do you want to know how good a guy I am? Really, do you? Listen ...
When R. Girl gets off from working the night shift (6 p.m. to 6 a.m.) at the place where they help sick kids I wake up early in the morning to go over to her apartment and crawl into bed with her. This way it's like we spent the night together.
Choke back the tears, dorks.
Fuckin' OutKast, bro, right on.
And I just want to say that it's sad when we have to give almost as many awards to dead musicians than live ones. No, wait, I want to say something more ... fuck you for dedicating every fucking thing to Johnny Cash when none of you have the balls to stand up to the corporate machine that puts out shit like Evafuckmyessence and that puts you on a 10 minute delay because they are afraid you might show some tit for a second. Johnny mutha punching Cash would have stuck his mutha kicking finger in the gosh darn fuck air and said "For Janet".
And Warren Zevon? Christ punch a medic, "Werewolves of London" was good, but dude that White Stripes bass lick is too tasty to not super size with the Grammy. Mutha huggers, I hope someone interesting dies or gets cancer next year so we can have better tributes and awards.
Like I mentioned before I am not feeling well. I think I've caught something that has been going around this office. I feel like I need to rest but I feel to sick to get any real sleep so my brain is going "Ah, why bother".
All right, it's time for me to skee-mutha-lovin-daddle.
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