So, since my FB is out of town and I'm waiting to do an online draft and packing, anyway, I figured I might as well do a post. Even though it's Saturday. Gasp! Home on a Saturday night? The horror!
And yet, somehow, I'll muddle through.
I'm finally going to see Fall Out Boy. Next Sunday night. Sure, I have to travel all the way to fabulous Las Vegas, Nevada to do it, but it'll totally be worth it. Even though my odds of getting into Rain or the Playboy Club apres are slim and fucking none. And my chances of nailing Taylor Swift (in town for the Country Music Awards) that weekend are even less.
But all is not lost. I'll be in Vegas. On a weekend. Seeing Fall Out Boy. Hanging at the Palms. There's exhibition baseball on Saturday AND it turns out the Diceman, who shaped my formative years, is also in town that weekend. Good Times! And now, it's come to my attention that after several false alarms, I'm finally going to get to see Kelly Clarkson in concert here in Calgary. The hinterlands.
Her new disc is pretty good. She's put on some weight, though. Now, If Only I could. Sigh. The dream of reaching 300 pounds by next January just keeps slipping farther away. But, perhaps, the buffets in Vegas will put me back on track. Fuck lemonade, I'm making lemon meringue pie. Mmm, pie.
But I digress.
I find it oddly troubling that where previous generations had Turok, Son of Stone; Shakespeare; Moliere; Jack Kerouac; Candace Bushnell and the like, we have Facebook status messages. I find it even more troubling that the best I could come up with was ''was made in a peanut-free facility.'' I feel so cheap. And not The Good Kind.
And yes, everyone that applies to be the Facebook Friend of Christian Manson (your humble narrator) is approved, sans question or screening process. I'm just saying.
My life really needs pyro. And an entrance theme. Perhaps Here Comes A Regular by The Replacements. A hero of mine, Sean Messenger (check out LVO3), recently reminded me of how truly excellent this song really is.
I've never even seen Titanic, why would I ever want to peruse Twilight?
After reading my package of Vanilla Oreos last night (my library card has kinda lapsed, also troubling), I've arrived at my new approach to oral sex.
It's brilliant in its simplicity. Kinda like I, except for, you know, the brilliant portion of proceedings.
I'm constantly thinking outside the bun.
Outside the cunt, however...not so much. Oops, I Did it Again. I used the c-word, the one the bithces hate so much. In repentance, I'll be watching the Sex and the City flick on Movie Central in an hour and a half. With a BIG jar of Vaseline.
I quite enjoy the word abscond. I know not why.
Love me the catchphrases and transparency, I do.
I'm quite enjoying watching Katie Morgan's Sex Tips. Educational, informative, and dare I say (why, yes, I believe I just might), kinda hot. THERE, we get the nod over previous generations. They had Dr. Ruth Westheimer. We have hot blonde snatch on the hoof.
Advantage us. Hey, wait a minute. That almost tied things up neatly, having a point-wise. Quickly remedied.
I predicted the Matt vs. Jeff Hardy storyline six months ago on my PS2 copy of Smackdown Vs. Raw. Is there anybody, be they in a cave, a hut or a parallel dimension, that didn't see this coming?
Now, If Only we'd get to see Stephanie McMahon coming. Spring. Romance. That's just me.
I wonder when Paris Hilton is finally going to get to show us her acting chops. She is, after all, our generation's answer to Marilyn Monroe. Perhaps a remake of Some Like it Hot?
Just imagine if the Internet (yeah, that was me...you're quite welcome) had been around during Marilyn's day. I've a sneaking suspicion she'd have used it properly.
I, too, think Matthew Berry should be the next Bacherlor. No, I still won't watch the show. Or any other reality show for that matter, but still.
Enjoy your weekend, y'all, I've run out of train of blank.