i suspect writing is a bit like fucking, which is only fun for amateurs. old whores don't do much giggling.
-hunter s. thompson
there is a jackass at the port authority bowling alley who acts like he's seen it all. he walks back and forth, up and down the lanes, goading the patrons into bowling various spares and strikes or some such combinations in return for a free shot of what i later realized was turpentine. boy did he make a mistake when he dared my stoned ass to bowl a spare LEFT HANDED. i may not write with that hand, but i jerk off with it, and i sure as hell can roll with it amigo. ha ha! commence with the shot-giving!
while all this was going on, the missus was busy escorting this gentleman on stage:
http://www.indyweek.com/durham/2001-10-31/music.html
how i missed that event is a long story, but suffice it to say she ended up having to be escorted into the port authority to retrieve me. i hadn't broken any laws - the police just thought she was sexy is all. what is still beyond me is how i managed to get frisked by the bowling alley door guy (search me - this must be some sort of post 9/11 development) with a switchblade and big ol bag of northern california sensi in my pocket and the dumb bastard find nothing. while my buddy had his wimpy flask confiscated. one 10,000 point karma chip cashed. in.
when our cab broke down i thought for sure the other half of the coin had caught up with me, but turns out we broke down right in front of the missus' house. so after all was said and done i got some anyways. hooray!!!that's the good thing about dating a hot, cool broad. they put out at the drop of a hat. guys dig that.
snide, sexist (and hopefully read as tongue-and-cheek)comments aside, there is upon us a winter cold and hence much mentholatum. a haze of eucalyptus and cotton tongue. damn you halls of medicine and your taste-bud singing sting. i want to taste my tabasco. my oatmeal. my day-old coffee.
perhaps it is lunar, but all my friends seem to winding down with their boygirlboys. the missus and i watch in fear. is something in retrograde, and if so, what does that mean? we peer around corners and whisper "you find something good . . .you put it in your trapper keeper." there is a fine line between a good, firm grip, and needing a restraining order, but if potter stewart could divine the difference between a cumshot and glue, why can't us of the lowly proletariat discern love.
strange times. strange times indeed.
-hunter s. thompson
there is a jackass at the port authority bowling alley who acts like he's seen it all. he walks back and forth, up and down the lanes, goading the patrons into bowling various spares and strikes or some such combinations in return for a free shot of what i later realized was turpentine. boy did he make a mistake when he dared my stoned ass to bowl a spare LEFT HANDED. i may not write with that hand, but i jerk off with it, and i sure as hell can roll with it amigo. ha ha! commence with the shot-giving!
while all this was going on, the missus was busy escorting this gentleman on stage:
http://www.indyweek.com/durham/2001-10-31/music.html
how i missed that event is a long story, but suffice it to say she ended up having to be escorted into the port authority to retrieve me. i hadn't broken any laws - the police just thought she was sexy is all. what is still beyond me is how i managed to get frisked by the bowling alley door guy (search me - this must be some sort of post 9/11 development) with a switchblade and big ol bag of northern california sensi in my pocket and the dumb bastard find nothing. while my buddy had his wimpy flask confiscated. one 10,000 point karma chip cashed. in.
when our cab broke down i thought for sure the other half of the coin had caught up with me, but turns out we broke down right in front of the missus' house. so after all was said and done i got some anyways. hooray!!!that's the good thing about dating a hot, cool broad. they put out at the drop of a hat. guys dig that.
snide, sexist (and hopefully read as tongue-and-cheek)comments aside, there is upon us a winter cold and hence much mentholatum. a haze of eucalyptus and cotton tongue. damn you halls of medicine and your taste-bud singing sting. i want to taste my tabasco. my oatmeal. my day-old coffee.
perhaps it is lunar, but all my friends seem to winding down with their boygirlboys. the missus and i watch in fear. is something in retrograde, and if so, what does that mean? we peer around corners and whisper "you find something good . . .you put it in your trapper keeper." there is a fine line between a good, firm grip, and needing a restraining order, but if potter stewart could divine the difference between a cumshot and glue, why can't us of the lowly proletariat discern love.
strange times. strange times indeed.
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