i have nothing to say to you.

i hardly ever have anything to say to you. one day i will have something to say to you but today i have nothing.

walked outside to check out the strawberries and saw that the aliens have carved out another maze in my purple haze field. crazy rascals.

oh wait, it was paris hilton and lionel richie’s daughter.

i still have nothing to say. i didnt ride the bus today. i got a ride from rosalita who was going my way. i didnt have anything to say to her either. we rode in silence and listened to howard stern berating his editor for dating a 20 yr old intern.

howard: how old are you?

gange: 34.

howard: why are you dating a teenager?

gange: shes not a teenager shes twenty.

bababooey: she just turned twenty, howard.

howard: shes barely even developed, what are you doing man?

bababooey: oh, shes developed.

everyone laughs.

rosalita turns up the radio and shoots me a dirty look.

rosalita is 28.

im older than 34.

im 109, turning 110 in a few months.

rosalita wants me as her man and i dont want to be her man and i dont want to be the man of any teenagers neither but she wouldnt believe me if i told her that because some things you cant convince anyone of.

plus i got nothing to say to her.

stale silence.

the worst sort of silence.

the kind you get from two people who have ripped off each others clothes on several occasions in drunken sinfests and now arent really sure they even know each other let alone like each other.

and now are stuck in rush hour traffic.

listening to sit n sleep commercials.

azarok + the king of all bloggers + a review of the neil young rock opera

paris wants to know why i dont write about her any more.

i keep telling you my life isnt easy.

my biggest problem is that the cigar smoking monkeys who type this blog have been churning out crap lately and cranking the faith no more isnt encouraging them the way it used to.

so today you’ll have to settle for me.


last night was a weird one.

someone stopped by my house to give me two presents as “a peace offerring.” I’m not really into people coming over to my house who im not in the best of terms with, but she was cute and she did have the Anna Kournikova maxim, so i accepted the gifts and went back to choking my monkey.

i mean monkeys.

i mean, going back to watching big brother four which was a sham, and now im gonna stop watching it.

then i fell asleep on my couch. too much rum and thai food will do that to you.

i woke up and might have had a conversation or might have had a dream. its hard to tell.

if you call me and im mumbling im probably dreaming.

its probably a good time to ask me all the deep dark questions that are burning in your little hearts.

i remember a girls voice.

she told me some things about how i took care of business that made me happy.

but again, it may have just been a dream. but since i dont dream it may have been real.

when i get home i’ll check the caller-id.

i want to shake the hand of the man who invented caller-id.

or hug the woman who thunk it up.

this morning i woke up in a pool of my own blood.

then i realized that really was a dream.

and woke up again, but this time in my kingsized waterbed which i had thought had sprung a leak.

but it was just the sprinklers from outside that had shot through my open window.

ah, spring.

paris and nicky spotting + another paris and nicky spotting