Life goes on. The world keeps turning. The rich get richer. The shit hits the fan. And in the middle of it all, I spend another day at my desk ready to unleash all the productive energy locked away inside my weary old bones and nerdistic body cells.
Notice I said I was ready
to do said unleashing. As far as the unleashing itself, you'd better check with the "unleashed unleashings" dept.
Today? Don't ask. Let's talk about last night instead. Yep, Wendy, Cindy, Mike and Ian all showed up with their "fashionably late" suits on, but that gave me additional time to prepare their repasts! I stuffed them full of my steak chili, as well as heaping helpings of bachelor salad, insta-quick garlic bread, along with the potato salad and the brie/camabert cheeses that Wendy brought. Ian told me it was the best chili he's "ever" had, and instead of saying, "Wouldn't I just be the best top chef that any white trash restaruant ever had?", I simply told him "grazia" (that's yiddish for "you're an easy dude to please").
After the meal came the Orange Core Breach. Man, does it take brains to pour a bunch of different alcohols together or what? That is not
a rhetorical question, folks. The answer is an unwavering, unshakable YES. Y'see, I f**ked up the Orange Core Breach, to an extent. My great improvisation of dropping this slightly-melted frozen blob of concentrated orange juice (to provide a flavored ice cube) backsplashed on me -- the mixture was too syrupy sweet, in addition to being STRONG
enough to induce an alcohol puke in W.C. Fields. Yes, I spiked it that
However, with some additional watering down and a bit of further tinkering, everyone managed to choke it all down, and each of us ended up with a wholesome, soothing buzz -- about the same feeling you get after you get kicked in the head by a 2,000-pound buffalo.
My, my, I can hardly
wait for this weekend. I know I'm going to be turning cartwheels, backflips and double sommersaults in anticipation of my first volunteer stint at the Democratic Party office. Maybe when they see what kind of skills I've got, they'll put my in charge of something tailored to my strengths, like cleaning the scum off the men's room walls, or sandblasting the fingerprints off the George McGovern Watergate files containing the two missing tapes.
Only 10 more minutes until I unleash (there's that word again) myself upon an rather unwary Las Vegas world. I don't know what I'm going to do tonight, honestly. I expect I shall try to catch up on what's happening with that politcal big-wig gig out in Iowa, I suppose. Kucinich had better come away with at least 50 percent of the delegates.
Maybe I can write to someone who can endorse Dennis, and someone who's got some real
political clout. Let's see, how about Britney Spears? Everyone wants to read what she has to say, y'know. Or maybe Scott Peterson. He could do a commercial saying something like, "Dennis is a great candidate, even if he isn't
married. Speaking as a newly unmarried man myself, I can tell you Dennis is the best guy to lead America to its salvation."
*yawn* Are you still awake? After reading all
that babbling? In that case, ya' got one up on me. But anyway, good night, and have a unleashingly-unleashed