My last entry, true to it's first declaration, was written whilst I was inebriated. I think someone peppered my earl grey tea with angel dust. Or maybe they spiked my Robitussin with....Robitussin. ROBO-TRIPPING...Lalalalalalalala.
Onlookers were surprised at my behavior considering my usually genteel, well-polished manner. I mean, normally I wouldn't be caught dead without a croquet stick and Tony Blair-shaped locket. Tooooonyyyyy Blaaiiiiir, you're sooooo dreamily aloof and eel-like, I bet you're a menace in the bedroom! All your shifting political loyalties and girly British intonations....mmmmmmmmm....I bet oral sex with those teeth is just fabulous. Just fabulous.
Last night I went to MASS gallery to see "House Painting," which is an installation by my birthday twin, leftist comrade, fellow robot enthusiast, and lover. Okay, the last thing is not true. Although when the lights go out, it's up to the robots to join motherboards, fuse antennae and create a spark. I don't know what that means exactly. But imagine it!
The show was fabulous (and not "fabulous" like Tony Blair oral-sex is "fabulous). Erin Curtis is one talented MoFo. It's an installation that mirrors our own twisted Americana fantasies. And they served pigs in a blanket.
*One time, Alaina and I tried to learn "Draconic" which is the language of Dragons. I would also like to learn a Robot language. And I would like to speak both of them while under the influence of Robitussin.
*Remember the sex scene in the "Coneheads" movie?
*Here are two games to play:
"Which Six Feet Under character are you?"
"Are you a geek, spazz, or a dork?"
No one can decide what character I am, or what I am from the geek, spazz, dork triumverate. Please send in your answers as I cannot have a truly fleshy identity until I know this information.