Shit's classic.

First off.... this:

That right there.... it's, "Mom, I need twenty bucks for the mall," shit. It's two sodas coming out of the vending machine. Wham. Your day is better. Thank you, karma.

I wasn't supposed to be alone tonight, but that's the case (as of right now). So, I'm saving myself. Mmmm, vinyl collection. Like cracking open two, three sodas and only gulping a few times. The Doors Greatest Hits is on right now. You can look at the disc and tell it's probably been played six or seven-hundred times. Still sounds smooth. Really, really light hiss, like when the waiter is like, "How much parmesan?," and you say, "That's plenty," after only two or three strokes on the grater.

Quit being soooo conservative.

**

So, Doors are still rolling. It's a joint that never ends. The bottomless beer. Wait, hold on a minute, that keyboard solo is about to tear through my basement and eat my being.

That was justice right there. Jim Morrison is kind of like every good thing: dead/will come to and end eventually.

Weak. Thanks reality.

**

Yeah, that's a real gun. Dude, look at that picture of me! I look so fucking tough. Too bad that gun wasn't firing. Trust me, there was a clip in it. Full clip. Somebody needs to Photoshop a huge, hand-rolled cigarette in my mouth, or like.... a bullet actually coming out of the gun. It'd be enough to freak your mom out. Hard.

I'm not that tough of a guy, though. Don't let the gun fool you. Or let the gun fool you, and gimme' your money.

Sometimes friends do shit, and you're just sitting there on the couch thinking, "What the fuck?" That's kind of happening to me right now, think of it as reality television... or reality blog.

Drama. Sucks.