VH1 has a lot of nerve.

i spent 48 years in a salon chair today. my head is sore from the pulling, bleaching, icky hair disposing and the hot dryer. my ass prolly got the equiv of bed sores. ew. too nast?
but, goddamn do i look hot lava.

i took a fullfilling nap and woke up totes refresh. who wants to go out? fucking nobody. something firey must have gotten into me cuz i'm drinking whixxxey alone. i never drink this shit, tastes like botulism, but here i am, hurricane drinking.
dogs are no fun to drink with. they have a teeny sip and then they're all, "yeah, i'm done. i'm just gonna stare out at you in hopes of some cheese. and don't touch me."
lame.
i rode my bike to Hair Police, and i haven't ridden my bike in like, 14 decades, so i was excited and nervous. more nervous when i started peddling down Lake St and realized i had no breaks. POGO, where are you? fix my breaks? raise my seat? buy you beer? so that was kinda eeeeeeeeeeee. but i made it. when i had to stop i would just run into a wall or a parked car or some random pedestrian.
no i didn't.
yes i did.

well, 1:57am. last call is out. yr all going to prison.