I need a job. A real job. One that pays.
But then I wouldn't have as much time to get on Suicide Girls and ogle naked chicks.
Fuck it. I don't need a job that badly.

One of my biggest regrets in life was not going to the Suicide Girls burlesque show at the Gypsy Tea Room in Dallas in 2006. I had a ticket.
Hey, I was sick. Should have gone anyway. I was working on a grant proposal regarding creative new uses for electrical tape.
If I had gone, there would have been a distinct possibility I would have been moshed or pogoed to death.
Would've so been worth it.

A few years ago before he got married, a buddy asked a girl we both knew if she wanted to go to a Nine Inch Nails concert. She said she was going, but not with him. "You, on the other hand", the girl said to me later when regaling me of this story, "we could have dressed you up in black and you could've fit in". I do so love being malleable.

I posted a review of Guide To Living DVD on Amazon, and they would e-mail me when someone commented. Someone finally did. He didn't like my review. Fuck him, just fuck him. Whole fucking world's a critic.

Been having some gastric issues lately. Been telling some of you to take care of yourselves above all else. I guess it may be time to put up or shut up. Can't tell you I'm more than a little scared.

"You give me a pen...I'll write you a sonnet"
"You give me the bricks...I'll build you a house."

I'm done for now. If you need me, I'll be the one trying to shoplift the Reeboks.

Seacrest out