monsvalentine

i rank the winona ryder shoplifting story right up there with where jimmy dean parked his tractor last night. why am i still hearing about this?

i think about death sometimes, but i dont dwell over it. i mean, dont worry about me or anything like that. its all good. the man upstairs and me got a plan. its worked out so far. ya heard. but i was thinking. what would be the easiest way to off me? what would it take to kill me? risking giving you lugs any ideas, i came up with five scenarios of how i might check out:

1. it's just before kickoff on the first sunday of the new football season... you drug me, tie me to a chair, pop in an endless videotape of michael moore footage and force me to watch it. i wouldnt die right off, but would eventually ask for suicide assistance from kevorkian.

2. its about 7:30 in the morning and im watching the today show. katie couric is interviewing espn's stuart scott and president george bush. After 2 to 3 cool as cucumbers from katie, 10 to 12 boo-yas from stuart and 15 to 20 "taarrarists" from george, my brain starts hemorrhaging. staring into the screen, just trying to figure out what the hell is going on, i get oddly dizzy and pass out. the coma never ends.

3. my woman agrees to a threesome with myself and her new girlfriend. yet, she gets cold feet and tells kate beckinsale to put her clothes back on and go on home instead. im dead, within 30 seconds.

4. i'm back in california, it's the morning after a serious night of drinking and i get caught in hella traffic-jam on the 405. 10 minutes earlier, i downed a quadruple espresso and 2 bran muffins. coroner report explosion.

5. i choose to run for governor of texas. my opponents get in touch with you and you sell me out. you dig up an old girlfriend of mine who has some outlandish sexual stories... and 48 hours of video tape that you wouldnt show a sailor. the emergency room doctor describes my death expression as an embarrassed grin.

have a good friday. live fat. be skinny.