Sslurp!

Not one but two friends I haven't talked to in a little while both sent word today they had dreams about me last night. So I want to take the opportunity in this public forum to thank my representation that handles all my subconscious and sleep cycle related bookings, Hector Cheetogenes over at the REM Agency. You been working overtime buddy, kudos!

Also, deciding at 2:30pm that it's time to take your first meal of the day, and having that meal be some birthday cake that tastes like a Twinkie...that's never gonna end well.

If the person who gets the pleasure of burying my dead carcass happens to also have the pleasure of reading this, could you please spring for a grave plot that's not next to the road. It's not just in New York, but everywhere I go I see graveyards that border four lane streets, and expressways, what's a brother got to do to rest in peace over here. It's not about wanting my decaying body to decompose in some 'Thorough' essay, I just don't want my area getting loused up with BK Chicken Fry wrappers. I've lost enough rest in life to street noise. Can you sense the contrived anger here? Forget it! Just cremate me and put me inside this lady's pepper shaker. 'Cause I'm trying to get inside that gurl! Wait, what? Rest assured this paragraph did not begin a long set-up to a bad Farrah Fawcett joke, but everybody gets lazy.