Ah, spring. Escapism and void filling are in the air.
‘What Child is This’ is the bastardized Christian remix of Greensleeves. Fuckers.
I’ve got my breezy spring Latin lover look down and fucking locked. If you don’t hear from me for awhile, I probably got deported.
I joined a gym. I should probably call a veterinarian soon, as my pythons are fucking sick.
Late to my own dinner party. My hair is wet and wavy. I certainly hope no one minds if I look Puerto Rican at the supper table.
Lying on my bed in boxer-briefs and an oversized Dead Kennedys shirt. Time Magazine knocked on my door to take my picture for Sexiest Man of the Year, but I didn’t answer.
Day drinking, listening to Tom Waits, and staring out the window in a cardigan that looks like a gray and black kimono. I have this Ms. Havisham thing DOWN.
Boner City. It’s a state of mind.
I’m a smeared swipe of red lipstick away from being insane today.
Okay, so I’m chatting with two ladies. Should I host a fight to the death, or should it be like a competitive reality show? So You Think You Can Jorge?