It’s like that TalkingHeads song that’s really a Tom-Tom Club song

And now, readers, I turn to serious matters. What do I do everyday? What is it that occupies my waking hours, and my dreams when I am sleeping?  To be perfectly honest, it is my girl, my own baby, my goober, my old lady. At such a young age, I have been domesticated, and you know what? I like it. 

T has been coming down on me lately for leaving her out on this blog. It’s not a selfish thing on her part, and it’s not a bad thing, but it is true. Everyday, I share everything with my girl. I leave my house at 4:50 and kiss her goodbye, and I pick her up from work on my way home at 2:30.  We eat dinner every night together, we have a dog named Chompy Dinosaur, and we live on Venice Beach together, and it is quite like a dream.

One of the stipulations of my blog from the beginning was that it would be T-rated. I have begun to take this more and more seriously, so this is an effort to stay on track.

So when you think of me, dear readers, do not think of me as an alone savage, standing on a rock wearing Abercrombie gear, stiffly gelled hair bristling in the wind.  Think of me sitting at home, watching The Three Amigos with my “girlfriend”, and loving the fact that I don’t have an empty hole in my head anymore, and that I can be calm and relaxed instead of on the edge of reality. 

This all ties in with the “I am lying to you” post.  “Keep your WITS about you,” I say…’s really just a joke.  The guy who told me that was a 35 year old, overweight, lonely old party animal who was just spouting his routine at the bar, on his way home to his Hollywood hill sick ass pad by himself. Alone, and feeling it real hard…that’s an example of me leaving something out, that a so-called mentor I portrayed was really just a sad joke of existence.

Houseparty used to call me “a sensitive little guy,” all the time, and that’s because that’s exactly what I am.  It creates a wall, a fake image that I project to protect myself.  When I talk about the time I went to Raconteurs show and was so twisted off, I wasn’t alone.  T was there too, and it was a special time for us because it was my birthday, and we were together, and it was our concert, not just mine. 

That readers, concludes this episode of sentimental reality.  It all boils down to the fact that I love my girl, and that she is my half, the other part of my life.  Yes, that sounds really gay, but guess what, fuckheads, it’s true.  If it wasn’t for my old lady, you would not be reading about me unless you were reading the obituaries of small Texas border towns. That, dear readers, is a smack of truth.  I am done for the weekend. Peace, and to all you people who came on account of my manipulation, how you like them apples, bitches?


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