Because it seemed like such a good idea at the time

I'm writing this post from Florida, which if I haven't said is Hell in a while, let me say again, it's Hell. Woody Allen complained about California that he couldn't trust a state where if you asked for culture you got yogurt. Here you don't even get yogurt, you get pink churches. Pink. What is this? The first church of miami vice? The sacred sepulchre of the holy homosexual?

I'm on this evil tv internet thing, which if that doesn't tell you the type of time of having, well, maybe this will. I started off this morning wth a phone call from, yes you guesed it Johhny Rocket (author of worst selling book on second only to Molly Bates) telling me "I'll pick you up at the airport in my convertible jag. Then we shall do lunch at the Colony." And I thought "you know my life very often sucks big moose cock, but when it rocks, it really rocks."
Every time I begin to think, as Bakerina often says to me "I love this life" I am simply setting the snooze alarm on epic disapointment. Paris the first time, no expectation, fab time, second time, not so much. Captain personality did pick me up in jag and take me to the hotel and then say "oh I have to go have a business eeting with my partner, I don't want to, but"

Lord have mercy man, learn from the professional, fake a heart attack, pretend to have a sudden attack of rocky spotted mountain fever, or just say to your partner, who is a man "listen I have a the best piece of ass on both side of the freakin' atlantic in my room right now, I"m going to go put the ho in hotel if you don't mind and then I'll meet tomorrow for gatorade and planning."

I think i just need to borrow michael's bag of shit and start crusing the 'ostomy support groups.

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