Dean Martin fucking rocks. Not the leathery rat-pack one, I'm talking about the oh-so-cuddly drummer from such popular Calgary-based troubadours as The Summerlad, The Ex-Boyfriends, and MFO. Why does he rock? Because the first song on his latest mix-CD ("Dean Martin's Variety Hour #666", naturally...) is Quicksand's "Thorn In My Side", which is soon followed by Mog Stunt Team's "King Of The Retards", both of which are all kinds of awesome.
And none of you care, right? Right. Whatever: when they finally make the movie about my life, Dean's doing the soundtrack.
3:00 a.m. and I'm wired, which should surprise no one, as everyone knows that I have a precarious relationship with the sun (it is evil and must be destroyed, now, thank you, do it now, or I will wreak my vengeance on your very soul, or at the very least give you a really nasty Indian Burn...); it's just that I have to be up at nine to go to the doctor, and then I have to call Josh 'Screaming Balcony Wolf' Barsky at ten so that he gets up in time to meet us at Beano at noon so that we can all go learn how to put vaginas on top of your goddamned lattes.
No, I will not explain the last part of that sentence; I think it's much better if you live in fear of barristas implanting various genitalia into your beverages. Third Wave THIS, y'all...
What this means is that I need something to focus my attention on, as the Crazy Lady is at home and sick; because without her to constantly tell me I'm not hallucinating and keep me from eating paint chips, I'm left to my own devices, which means that I play too many stupid online video games, read too many shitty comics, and eventually look at too much porn. I know that's hard concept to grasp, but it's true: sometimes you've seen so much that you find yourself wondering why there are pictures on your computer of tiny Asian women vomiting eel chunks onto each other's belly.
Don't ask. Don't look it up, either, because there are some things you just can't UN-see.
All of which leads to me spending the last four hours making mix-CDs for the workplace that hopefully straddle the line between being stamped 'Beano-Appropriate' by the powers that be, and not sucking total ass. My head is in a strange place right now, which is why I'm taking a break to commit bloggitry and sample Mr. Martin's superb offering; soon enough I'll be back asking myself if slipping Ween's "The Rainbow" into the mix will cause the Mount Royal Trophy Wive's Club to shoot non-fat dairy products out of their various nose jobs.
HOLY CRAP HOW DID IT ALREADY BECOME 4:00??? Okay, this is me going to bed, and the first person to wake me for anything less than the friggin' Rapture gets a golf shoe to the face, and even then, well, that Jesus fella better keep it down if he knows what's good for him...
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