(no subject)
Woke a hair before 7:22 a.m., repaired to the couch to finish my rest under my Ouija blanket.
For some reason I was working for Howard Stern. His guest was some tan chick with black hair famous for being on a reality show. Stern's studio was in a garage with glass garage doors. The talent's late, Howard goes off on a tangent, I bring up a cream colored Chevrolet HHR butted up agains the garage door. Out of nowhere a 1950's style car pulls in, rear-ends the HHR, sending it into a hallway scraping up its side. Stern's mantra is, "It belongs to the county, don't worry."
Dimbulb comes and sits down at the table. My eye is caught by her chauffeur's pale skin, and the fact her hair is full of tiny colored beads. Threads were sewn into her skin at strategic points and beaded too. I got an eyeful, noticed her oversized bazooms, and proceeded to communicate with the host in sign language how the help would be more interesting, and probably make the guest more interesting, if she came on the air.
The next couple of minutes were a trainwreck. The girl had great tits, butterface, and a brain cell dying of loneliness. The celebrity guest stormed out in a huff, but turns out she was jonesing for a hit, using her bruised ego as an excuse to score a toot.
I walk out, head up Route 37, find out a drug store / supermarket was being built on the corner of Main St. and Rt. 37. Wandered in, picked up a two liter of soda, then put it back because it wouldn't help my weight situation. The staff, and a manager, yell and chase me out of the joint.
Now I'm up, ready to write for The Anomalist, and wondering why I chose Howard Stern when he hasn't been funny since Jackie left the show.
For some reason I was working for Howard Stern. His guest was some tan chick with black hair famous for being on a reality show. Stern's studio was in a garage with glass garage doors. The talent's late, Howard goes off on a tangent, I bring up a cream colored Chevrolet HHR butted up agains the garage door. Out of nowhere a 1950's style car pulls in, rear-ends the HHR, sending it into a hallway scraping up its side. Stern's mantra is, "It belongs to the county, don't worry."
Dimbulb comes and sits down at the table. My eye is caught by her chauffeur's pale skin, and the fact her hair is full of tiny colored beads. Threads were sewn into her skin at strategic points and beaded too. I got an eyeful, noticed her oversized bazooms, and proceeded to communicate with the host in sign language how the help would be more interesting, and probably make the guest more interesting, if she came on the air.
The next couple of minutes were a trainwreck. The girl had great tits, butterface, and a brain cell dying of loneliness. The celebrity guest stormed out in a huff, but turns out she was jonesing for a hit, using her bruised ego as an excuse to score a toot.
I walk out, head up Route 37, find out a drug store / supermarket was being built on the corner of Main St. and Rt. 37. Wandered in, picked up a two liter of soda, then put it back because it wouldn't help my weight situation. The staff, and a manager, yell and chase me out of the joint.
Now I'm up, ready to write for The Anomalist, and wondering why I chose Howard Stern when he hasn't been funny since Jackie left the show.