Thursday, August 18, 2005
Last night I went over to this phat house that Caitlin Haskell (her aliases: the evil cupcake, the equally evil art historian and demonic tennis player) is housesitting. It was tres swanky. There was a lot of biz-nass talk, which made me feel a little like the fuck-up artist that I am. Yes, I felt as though I was adorned with multiple berets and an array of body odors(complete with cigarette stench and anarchist factoids!). Hell, I even felt French. Or like a tight-wearing Corey Feldman amongst the Royal Shakespeare Company.
Oh readers, surely you will tire of my pop trivia, much as the public grew weary of the high-pitched whinny of our dear, departed friend Corey Feldman. Do you really think that he and Jacko were just friends?
Sidenote: what's the difference between Michael Jackson and an art historian? One's a balmy pedophile and the other is a peevish bibliophile. That's not funny is it? I'm am so groggy.
Today I am going to:
----Find a bed (Just a full, there seems to be a dearth of male models around so I will not be needing a queen anytime soon. Unless I get a lot fatter...hmmm)
------Quit fucking smoking 800 ciggies a day (this resolution probably should go in front of the "working out" one, seeing as I cannot work out with the lung capacity of an asthmatic dwarf.)