October 9, 2005
BIPOLAR WEEKEND
Pleasure, and pain. My favorite feelings. I field-stripped the Batcave Friday night, as the club-footed bird finally went to the Great Aviary in the Sky, and I was able to haul out the shit-encrusted cage, the surreptitious random cat turd, the vomitus that belonged to either me or Fosse. Then I painted that disgusting room Saturday, in that metro faggo dijon mustard I painted the rest of the interior in. It's a respectable room now, worthy of Southern Living, and will no doubt give me writer's block for a month.
In between, though, I watched Georgia prove they are not bullies of Division 1-AA crotch-sniffers, having handed Tennessee their wee balls on a plate. Now I am watching the Jaguars beat the undefeated Bengals, for the time being. The Jags are a mediocre team, but they DO have the two best defensive tackles in the NFL. Picked up Marcus Stroud from Georgia and John Henderson from Tennessee a couple years back, coincidentally, and those are some bad fucking hosses. After they take you down and drive your face in the turf they stand over you and scream obscenities at you, and grab their cocks, which happen to be attached to 330 pound frames. Love those boys.
And yet there was, oddly, nothing to drink in the Hovel tonight, except for a couple of bottles of cheap champagne from Helen, and so I had to decide what to celebrate, champagne being a festive drink, and all.
Monday morning was out of the question, of course, and so I settled on Ramadan. Hell, there's a Musselman with his face in the ground somewhere, I reckon. And so I salute his hasty demise. Did I mention how cool professional football is when you have the Chili Peppers at 12 on the JBL's?
Cleaned out my garage, too. Filthier than a Green Street whore, it was. Found two year old banana peels in there, a dessicated mouse corpse, threw out forty pounds of pure fucking junk. If I don't quit this place is going to become respectable like, then I'll be tempted to sell it.
P.S. Fuck the Braves. Six and a half hours of my life, wasted. I can never get those hours back, either.
Did you ever get rid of that dryer?
Posted by: livey at October 9, 2005 10:51 PMHell, no! Made an appointment with appliance pickup to fetch last Tuesday. Been a week, it's still out front, killing my grass. That's the problem with waste management companies. They all think they're the Sopranos.
Posted by: Velociman at October 9, 2005 11:04 PMI still think you're missing an opportunity. You could rent it out to an entire family of Katrina refugees - er, ahhh, victims - for a nominal fee, thus becoming a Hero to the Masses, a Friend to the Temporarily Homeless, and a Blight on the Civic Association.
Posted by: Elisson at October 9, 2005 11:09 PMYou actually weighed your junk?
Posted by: sadie at October 10, 2005 6:31 AMIf you come and clean my garage, I will supply you with all the alcohol you require, and, of course, a head of a pigmy rattler, to go along with the spider that surrounds your neck.
Posted by: Moogie at October 10, 2005 7:36 PMYou wasted six and a half hours on a Braves game? Bawahahahahaha
Posted by: GUYK at October 11, 2005 3:26 PM