Once you go Mexican, you'll never want sex again.
There is only one thing I am in dire need of right now, and that is a nice two-liter bottle of pure, triple-distilled vodka. Something imported, maybe, something Swedish. I am not in the mood for that Pepper Pot shit right now, but that is a different story entirely, and I am getting ahead of myself. I would like something above 120-proof, but something still drinkable, unlike this ether I'm always hearing about that doesn't go down your throat, it goes on a rag in front of your face. Yessir, vodka would be an excellent gift right now.
But, enough of that. Another thing I need is to get out of Los Angeles as quickly as possible, because this Must Love Dogs business has got me up to a pack a day, and I am now sleeping on my roof instead of on my futon. With this, I have made the observation that I haven't yet taken down my Christmas lights, and probably should. This December I am installing black lights in every single outdoor socket and hauling my stereo system out onto the roof; my home will glow bright blue and I will play one of those novelty "Halloween Ghost Sounds!" tapes to scare away carolers.
It has occurred to me that I have only heard from Jeremy Sisto once in the past two weeks, and I will not elaborate on that point at all. But, Hell, in the midst of these nice little surprises of OH FUCK! that have been going on, tonight I feel Good. . . Which is most certainly due to my acceptance of the fact that life as I know it will never be anything but berserk while I'm living in such close proximity to Hollywood.
But berserk is as berserk does, right? I've seen ugly things in the streets and I hear about even uglier things on the 6 o'clock news. Because of that mentally crippled little George W. Bush creep, there are many American families and even more Iraqi families that will always have a hate in their heart for the Oil Pimp who thinks more about flying his jet across the Texan skies than about pulling his country out of certain annihilation by the end of this year.
And because of that, or maybe in spite of it, I think that gives me Carte Blanche for whatever dirty shit I will get myself into on my trip to Ireland. Laissez-faire, baby.
Ireland, yes. I'm thinking it would be good to go around Halloween. This means once we pick up Kate that no one will think twice when they see three naked hoodlums running around the streets of Dublin screaming in American. Kate, if the United Kingdom is ready, I will pack my bags and remain indefinitely, or at least until the phone calls of my lawyer begin to lean towards death threats. There is nothing I can imagine that feels more Right and Meant to Be. Vincent, I am about ready to redeem my raincheck, which means we Must make sure to rent the right kind of car upon arrival.
Steven, once I find that sleeping with my mouth in the eavestrough is no longer advantageous over sleeping in a bed, I will organize an all-nighter with you and finish off the whisky in your cabinet. It's the least I can do.
Entertaining Link of the Moment -- How to build a Death Ray for $200. To Lucy, Love Diane.
But, enough of that. Another thing I need is to get out of Los Angeles as quickly as possible, because this Must Love Dogs business has got me up to a pack a day, and I am now sleeping on my roof instead of on my futon. With this, I have made the observation that I haven't yet taken down my Christmas lights, and probably should. This December I am installing black lights in every single outdoor socket and hauling my stereo system out onto the roof; my home will glow bright blue and I will play one of those novelty "Halloween Ghost Sounds!" tapes to scare away carolers.
It has occurred to me that I have only heard from Jeremy Sisto once in the past two weeks, and I will not elaborate on that point at all. But, Hell, in the midst of these nice little surprises of OH FUCK! that have been going on, tonight I feel Good. . . Which is most certainly due to my acceptance of the fact that life as I know it will never be anything but berserk while I'm living in such close proximity to Hollywood.
But berserk is as berserk does, right? I've seen ugly things in the streets and I hear about even uglier things on the 6 o'clock news. Because of that mentally crippled little George W. Bush creep, there are many American families and even more Iraqi families that will always have a hate in their heart for the Oil Pimp who thinks more about flying his jet across the Texan skies than about pulling his country out of certain annihilation by the end of this year.
And because of that, or maybe in spite of it, I think that gives me Carte Blanche for whatever dirty shit I will get myself into on my trip to Ireland. Laissez-faire, baby.
Ireland, yes. I'm thinking it would be good to go around Halloween. This means once we pick up Kate that no one will think twice when they see three naked hoodlums running around the streets of Dublin screaming in American. Kate, if the United Kingdom is ready, I will pack my bags and remain indefinitely, or at least until the phone calls of my lawyer begin to lean towards death threats. There is nothing I can imagine that feels more Right and Meant to Be. Vincent, I am about ready to redeem my raincheck, which means we Must make sure to rent the right kind of car upon arrival.
Steven, once I find that sleeping with my mouth in the eavestrough is no longer advantageous over sleeping in a bed, I will organize an all-nighter with you and finish off the whisky in your cabinet. It's the least I can do.
Entertaining Link of the Moment -- How to build a Death Ray for $200. To Lucy, Love Diane.