crank up the music, and turn off the tv (or pu tthe tv on mute, it's just for moving pictures in the backround anyways.)
the blogger copose or create page open and ready for randomness. some published, some save as draft.
the bong on the floor, or in my lap, and the wed on my right side, becuase im right handed. the ashtray's on the right as well.
the pack of cigarettes stands on the left, and keeps the beer company. i only have one beer tonight tho. how lame.
attire is boxer shorts. pants and shoes if it's chilly, but NEVER a shirt. i hate those things when im home. i hate shoes too, but when i wear only socks, they get all loose and turn into quitters.
i get up for phone calls, drinks of OJ off of the jug from the fridge, and pisses in the pisser.
dancing. man... this is hard to admit, but what do i care. i dance around liek a retard, and sing into an imaginary microphone, and it's gay, yes, but YOU DO IT TOO.
on mute the TV bumps jay leno, then conan (he's the funniest). and then carson daily. and then jay leno again, THEN HOWARD STERN comes on the radio. and i can lay down and smoke cigarettes in bed, finally.
that's about 3:30-4am
and then i get to wake up at 8am to the wrong numbers that start flooding into my house for the fucking animal hospital that is one digit off from my number...
oh what's your cat's name? oh buffy's your cat? shit man, buffy's dead. *click*
support your local taco stand. mexican food is good for the soul, and so is karate. so excuse me while i get my king fu grip on.
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