Thursday, August 8, 2013
GOT THAT PUBLIC LEWDNESS CHARGED REDUCED. COMMUNITY SERVICE. I STILL CAN'T BE THE ONLY ONE WHO HAS TAKEN A PISS ON A NEW YORK SIDEWALK! AT 2 A.M. ANYWAY, I'M GONNA TRY AND GET CENTRAL PARK DETAIL, ALL THE CELEBS DO THEIR COMMUNITY SERVICE THERE.
He is an opportunist, Jamie is. Always looking on the bright side. I want to write a play with him someday. About life, liberty, hairy bears in New Jersey, and strategies for not blowing a piss test.
And then there is B. My sarcastic equivalent who happens to understand my genetic code for "nervous stomach" problems. She too shares those desperate moments in Barnes and Noble or the supermarket. With children in tow, of course.
THOSE DD COFFEES ARE LIKE NINJAS!
I can picture her flying down to the basement of her old office building, to the scariest most abandoned bathroom on earth, the clock ticking like a scene from a Hitchcock film. Tick, tock. She also sends me some lovely images from the People of Walmart website, usually around lunch or dinner time, so that I can properly gag at man's fashion and hair and hygiene decisions (or non-decisions). My response is the usual journalistic query:
WTF IS THAT? CAN YOU EVEN IMAGINE WHAT HIS HAIR SMELLS LIKE? AND WHO FORGETS TO WEAR PANTS TO THE STORE...? I'VE BEEN CLOSE, BUT JEEZUS...
I TOOK CARE OF IT.
YOU USED THE AIR RIFLE DIDN'T YOU....(at least fifteen minutes elapsed)
The entertainment never ends. Just as I doze off to sleep, a fellow writer will text me a) a grammar question and/or b) that he's finally getting a piece. Good for him. Anna will text me from the other room that she doesn't want to clean the litter box.
TOUGH SHIT, KID.
YEAH, LITERALLY. THANKS, MOM.
Endless material. Endless.
There is no moral to this story, btw. Wear pants when you go out. Don't pee in the street. And watch out for laxative coffee.