it was so nice to be at home yesterday.

so nice. until of course the little angel girl marched over and told me how i hurt her and how she could never get naked with me again and how its now really truly over as in the end and how she cant even french kiss me no more. and then she fell asleep on my chest and no letting me hold her ass.

who knows. she might be right. it might really be over. i hope not though. i liked her.

id forgotten that i wisely left my plants outside the whole time so it could get some sun. id forgotten that id set aside some porn for myself. id forgotten how cute all the girls i date are. obviously the gravy train has begun to dry up making me yearn for an invention that i presented in my still unfinished xxx novel where this pizza boy gets hit in a head with a microwave and his brain is radiated just enough that he can see into the future.

but only a little bit in the future and only about weird sex stuff, like he went down on this cheerleader and knew that he would only get to eat that shit until the fourth of july. etc.

its not a good book. theres a reason its unfinished.

id forgotten how much apple juice i’d stored in the fridge and this morning i woke and mixed in a little armeretto and sprite and here i am ready to do a fantasy live baseball draft.

have i told you that i was at sxsw?

sk smith is the greatest. forget all this blah blah, shes what a real writer is.

calm cool collected. smart as hell. knows how to spell. has npr on. thinks about junk. perfect.

she made me think, “how on earth could *you* apply for one of the most selective grad programs in the country with a straight face?”

but as the armeretto keeps getting poured into my raiders big gulp cup nice thoughts like

people who dont belong always make their way into cool places,

look at the white house.

look at jerry o’connell

look at sammy hagar

or jay leno

all thats important in life is how much money you make anyway

and i still cant believe that robert blake is gonna walk and nobody is outraged.


cello jenn + chaos theory + janice marie + faucet

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