Just trying to relax after tour with a few friends.



– moldy cherries in amongst plumpy delicious ones are a direct FUCK YOU from either yourgreengrocer or God. Sort it out and get back to me.
– coming back to realise I didn’t get 1/3rd of the things done I had meant to – late with the vocals from a remix
– followed some friends down the path to certain braincell obvion (dont worry friends, I only stood in the doorway to hear the caterwauls of the dammned) as a 1994 rave went obviously out of hand with the gaunt and ghostly or plump and sweaty things of the past swaying to the beat of their internal pill-clock. I left them staggering with my own drink in hand, as I cheersed them emptyhanded, pushing my drink into their hand skillfully and with so great a seduction within moments it was rapidly and wantonly making its way down target espophagus. I leave the words “please don’t touch me” hanging in the air.
– my new best friend sleeping pill is leaving a metallic taste in my mouth – all day long Gatorade is now equivalent to Haterade, what’s a bitch to do?


Kirstie Alley Suggests re-reading Gilda Radner’s IT’S ALWAYS SOMETHING.

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