Fry-day

Fizzy fun fest, y'allz! Friday! I am chipper this morning... pourquoi? Perhaps because for once I did NOT have a hideous nightmare about 1) being pregnant with Billy Crystal's child 2) grilling halloumi on my leg or 3) my best friend marrying a crackhead. For REAL! Life is sweet. I feel like skipping down the street, maybe jumping up and clicking my heels in th air, like an extra in 'Oliver!' I feel bubbly, yet at the same time, content and calm:



Yes, wise like and old talking tree. I am ready to give advice to wayward teens, hobos and single mothers. Whoa, wait- BRAIN WAVE. Dig THIS: what would be fucking wiser than a ROCKING CHAIR made out of the wood of a TALKING TREE? Seriously! Imagine it. How apropos! It would be like fashioning a hip flask out of Jack Nicholson's skin... or some other boozy sleazehound. CREATIVE GENIUS.

But back to me being all serene. Let's try not to spoil it... too late:



Why? Why does this shit get put on posters? Why do I want a photo of wolves making out? It's sick.

But not quite as sick as the thought of the aged munchkins from the Wizard of Oz. Having played a munchkin myself in the FANTASTIC musical production of The Wizard of Oz my school did when I was 8... well, methinks I know a think or two about the whole scene. I was totally Method... maybe because I couldn't fucking AVOID being cast as a munchkin. Try as I might. Why do you think I curse so fucking much!



Anyway, point is: leave these people their dignity. They already pranced around, licking lollipops and dressing as flowers, leave them be: must we REALLY see them face the same treacherous journey towards DEATH, their wee munchkin faces sagging with the knowledge that only darkness awaits...



That's right, even Death needs to take a fucking break and chillax with some chips and a brew now and then. Shit, it ain't easy being macabre 24/7. But DAMN, Death! Fucking GET some new boxers. Those shits are nasty. I shake my head with disdain...

Anyhoo, guess I'd better get back to work, here in my tiny, windowless box, squinting like a mole whenever I happen to be allowed to venture out into the light of the outdoors.



So I've put on some weight. Big fucking whoop. Who are you to judge anyway?