Ouch!

I have a stiff neck, people. I woke up this morning, after dreaming of BEER (no joke, it was crazy) and I cannot look down or to the right. Note: anyone who wants to STEAL MY MONEY or perpetrate a crime, come at me from the right. It's open fucking season.

But did I whine? (yes) Did I complain (um, DUH!)... nope, I just hopped on the DRUNK BUS (where an old man slurred at me to 'shut up!' and no, I was not saying a thing, and may I add, it was 8 in the morning. Get a JOB, old man!) and came to work.

God I am SUCH a DEDICATED worker.

Oh, and did I mention the part where I transported myself back to 1990's Madrid, joined a motor racing team, won the FUCKING COPA (alas injured with whiplash along the way, hence the FUCKING CRAZY CLOWN DOLL neckbrace), and returned triumphant to my home village where the townspeople feted me with a roast boar?



Well, it happened... somewhere between getting on the Drunk Bus and getting a cup of coffee. Fantastic voyage!

And while I am at it- dwelling on my pain, I mean- is this the only answer?



How much do those massage chairs gross me out? I hate the idea of being MASSAGED in public.. or in this case, in the middle of a meadow. And let me just say this: that guy is wearing JUST the shoes I THGOUGHT a man being massaged in public would wear. I'm not calling them child molester shoes... but then again, maybe I'm not NOT calling them child molester shoes. If you get my meaning.



What? Where did this come from? Ehmmmm, no eye-deee-er. It appeared as if by insane hat-tastic magic... much like an episode of 'Blossom.'. But I will tell you this much: dude in the back with the sunglasses? One badass motherfucker. He will shank your ass. Word is bond, people.
More later, once the painkillers have kicked in. Toooodlez.