I drink the Kool Aid. It's strawberry. Mmmm strawberry.
I wouldn't want to be the NFL game official whose jersey reads BJ. But that's likely just me. If the league ever introduces female officials, that's where they'll start. Who says it's the No Fun League?
In his prime, Bo Jackson would've taken god (or whoever) in a steel cage match. Mike Ditka, however, remains undefeated.
I had no idea until recently that John Lee Hooker was dead. That's just so wrong on so many levels.
I can't decide if I'm more troubled by the many douchebags what should be dead that continue to walk the earth or the quality individuals that still had so much to offer who were taken from us too soon.
I'd be all in for polygamy if it didn't entail getting, you know, married more than once.
I recently had to explain to a 29 year old the difference between left and right. Jesus wept. I'd fire the kid if I didn't think he'd end up sucking dick for cigarette money within the day. See, I really DO have a conscience.
I'd again like to reiterate the inhernt foolishness of referring to someone as a Discount in a public forum such as this. Kids, don't try this at home.
As for everything else, I am totally in favor of kids trying it at home. I kinda hate children. And worship me some natural selection.
Not sure what intelligent design is, however. Pretty sure I haven't seen much evidence of it in my day to day. For whatever that's worth.
I miss the Kingdome.
I am I am, I said. I'm not myself. I'm not dead and I'm not for sale.
After all these years, I'm beginning to dislike working nights. Still hate daylight, though.
I must've been the onliest one to buy a ticket for the Gin Blossoms show hereabouts Saturday past, as the Evil Empire Ticketmaster called me personally to inform me of its cancellation. Too bad, I'd have totally been down for some Rock Star Karaoke with the band. I do a mean Found About You, even if my Hey Jealousy still needs some work.
This post seemed a lot better in its formative stages. And it was no great shakes then, either.
I can't recall the names of all the women I've been inside. And no, it's been nowhere near enough. I can, however, recall all the unrequited lust. Again, not sure which troubles me more.
I'm now officially willing to forgive Heath Ledger for Brokeback Mountain.
I wonder why, at 2 this a.m. with nary a car on our stretch of road for maybe a mile, some jerkoff decided he had to cut me off. Can't decide whether I admire his style or wish him the death of 1000 cuts.
I recently relost my innocence. I started out watching something called Strap-on Secretaries. Or some such. Sounds like a classic, n'est pas? That's what I thought, too. Starts out well, hot hoochie at a sex toy party. Then some chump rolls in, presumably a stripper; and I'm thinking 2 Girls For Every Boy (Brian Wilson=Genius). Uh, no. Reread the film's title. Throw out all expectations of a positive nature. And then folks wonder why I don't sleep very well. A lot, yes. Well, not so much.
I still enjoy leaving a woman's house in the wee small hours whilst she slumbers. Even if it's, sigh, simply because I hate Rush Hour traffic and she has to get up for work. But I can pretend.
So I'm watching I Spy. The T.V. series. And I'm downright floored by the fact that Bill Cosby actually used to, you know, not suck. In fact, he was kinda badass.
Hannah Montana's cute and all, but her pal Lily's the one you've got to watch out for. She looks like trouble with a semen streaked grin.
I've seen the Vanessa Hudgens pictures. No big. Still holding out for Ashley Tisdale. With a character's name like Sharpei, you just know she's ALL about the dogstyle.
What? I've been up for 6.5 hours and it's 0815 MST. Sue me.
How much pussy do you think Cole and Dylan Sprouse get? Do you suppose it's more than Aaron Carter?
I still think Wilmer Valderrama's in league with Satan. Oh, no? Check his dating record. Look at the guy. E-mail me an apology.
All I remember about Melrose Place is Jake. They should've just called the show Jake and Some Other People. 90210, however, was a way of life. Still is. Eagerly awaiting the spinoff.
Last night I dreamed about sappers in the wire. Having never been in Vietnam, it troubles me greatly that I'm having flashbacks. I did, however, get jerked off by an Oriental chick once at a get together with some friends while we sat around watching the timeless Richard Grieco flick If Looks Could Kill. But do I get flashbacks about that? NOOOOO. Fucking subconscious will be the death of me yet.
Off to troll the online dating sites for future victims. May Monday be kind to some of y'all.
You know who you are. And so do I.