. . .

Bad dab

Note: the following message is NOT FOR JASON. If you are Jason, you do not get to read this. Go home. Go home like the pile of insensitive bodyparts you so greatly resemble. I will send my attackslugs after you should you read any further. I will have your revenge. I will have Ernest Borgnine's revenge. We will all dance around the FisherPrice maypole, symbol of redhot lovin', like the potato people.

I send coughies at the universe. The universe is coming down with something.

This isn't going to tell you anything. It isn't going to explain the mating habits of wild orchids, or why you shouldn't make Bloody Mary mix out of tin cans and twinkies, or the mystical significance of th4e colon. I am above that sort of thing. You are looking to be entertained and distracted. This is my nature in life. I am The Distraction.

The Temporary Distraction From The Meaningless of Existence. My superhero name. My agent wanted me to go for something more insightful, like The Tooth Fairy, or Zed Ogamma One, or The Human Human. Something less calculated to drive 5 year olds to tears. I will hold fast to my faith, for without faith, I am a wooden nickel in the handjob of life.

Never put salt in your eyes.

I am just going to have to marry the next Playboy centerfold I meet. That should keep the rest of them from hanging around me so much. With their "Oh, Alloni, could you give me a spongebath?" and "Alloni! Wanna join our nude mudwrestling game?" and "Oops, I just accidentally dripped warm honey all over my body. If only you could take care of that for me." it's getting difficult to get to sleep at night. Gosh darn it, women, can't you keep your hands off me?

Should you ever be forced to live in Nathan's apartment, a small advicele for you: don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about.

I am making very little sense today. I have not taken Codeine since yesterday. I am pure and sober. I tell you! Sober! Why do you not believe me? I go cry now.