…is a frightening prospect. pretty worried over here. what if the moviestars like the oompa loompa are too sophisticated for me? shit, what am i saying? more sophisticated than ME?! ME?!! i know. you’re all saying to yourselves, “suit, why are you worried? you are the classiest mutherfucker since don johnson.” well, i know. i know. i mean, it is my divine providence after all. i’m like lewis and clark. except more like clark, cuz i’m not going to shoot myself after i get back home.
all the same, i’m a little worried. they might be on a different level of consciousness, and maybe i won’t even be able to communicate with them. worse yet, i might wreck the rental car or get my wallet jacked at lax. shit, they might blow up my damn plane — atlanta to lax. sounds like a lot of fuel in that boeing.
2. going to another mlb ballpark — dodgers stadium should be fun. as long as they sell beer and caps, i’ll be all good. a mets’ loss (or, better yet, a terrible injury to beltran) would just be icing on the cake.
3. seeing my ole pal roughtonious — live 2 hours down the road from him and have to go to l.a. just to touch bases with a guy i used to see 5 times every day. p.s. roughty, i apologize for stealing all those subway station sandwiches from you. i always blamed in on stoney, but it was really me sometimes. also, while i’m apologizing, sorry for laughing at you for the sj punch to the grill. you did have it coming, though… pffft.
4. feeling comfortable in another city — when you’re a homeboy like me, you really get confident when you go someplace else and can function like a reasonable human. not sure if this will happen, but i’m thinking positive.
8. meeting lady t. — after all the hype, i’m ready to meet the genuine article. if she can make our boy take nudie pics off the blog, she must be a wonderful person. —editorial sidebar — yes, i’m kissing ass, boys. this is what you do before you go and share a teeny living space with somebody you never met before.—
9. the pacific ocean — another one of those things i never saw before. should be suhweet, gnarly, bodacious and that hang ten sign you do by sticking out your thumb and pinky finger and jiggling your hand around. maybe i’ll finally get to see the monster swells like on point break. i’m paddling out, bra!
most of all, though, there’s number 11. scratching the shit out of my pal stoney’s cd collection — i’m sitting here listening to let it be, and wouldn’t you know it, the shit is scratched right to hell — right in the middle of the long and winding road, no less. why don’t i take it out and put in something else like the love below? oh. that is scratched to shit as well. oh. what about all your sublime cds? you guessed it. looks like someone ran them over. bob dylan discs? fuuuucked up. broke a cd player with one of them just last week – seriously. why are all my cds scratched? i’ll tell you. it’s this blog’s fearless leader — mr stoney. it’s almost as though he destructulated my shit on purpose. oh well, iain’tmadatcha. all i’m saying is you better hide your shit, holmes. for real. i’m bringing some rusty nails and broken glass for the whole collection.
all jokes aside, i can’t wait to see my friends again. the only thing that would make it better is if dankkkkk could come. what am i saying? i know he could come if he really wanted to. (peer-pressure’s a bitch, muthafuckah.)