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Published: October 6th 2008
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Greyhound Track
Friday is bring your kids to the track day. Off Crack, On to Gambling
The sweetest thing about me is that I have an incredibly sexy back, or at least that’s what Tara keeps saying. In the interest of being self-loving and cocky, I’m going to say that my back is now my 4th sexiest feature behind, 3. The tops of my feet, 2. My big brown baby deer eyes and 1. My big beautiful bottom lip. I just keep getting better and better.
Onto the explanation of my title. We moved into studio 54 and officially bought a bunch of crap for it. It costs more to start living in a place than I remember. I burnt the new pan on the first day and we bought so many groceries we had to take a taxi 1-kilometer home cause we couldn’t carry it all without shoulder reconstructive surgery after. In case you didn’t know how far a kilometer is, it’s a .62 of a mile, thank you iConverter on my itouch.
I just realized today that I don’t have a phone. I haven’t sent a text message in a month. I don’t have keys. I haven’t carried any form of identification on me in 3 weeks
Choices
It's like adopting a child or picking a hooker. and yet I’m still alive. I’m some sort of new wave 21st century non-digital boy. Of course I do carry my itouch with me everywhere, mostly for currency and other metric system conversions, but sometimes I hide in strange places and play sodoku when Tara isn’t looking. Maybe sodoku is the new crack. Speaking of, I’m off topic, back to crack. Sorry, I’ve had a lot of wine and popcorn.
Every Thursday, Friday and Saturday when I feel like betting on Greyhounds at the racetrack. I put on some nice clothes, a nice shirt and shoes. I make sure to smell handsome and at 9pm, I walk across the street, literally, I walk 20 feet and me and the T-Rex watch dog races. We go over after the 4th of 11 races so we don’t have to pay to get in and we don’t gamble because it’s a fool’s game. We do gamble house dollars, which you can trade for sexual favors, trading chores or whatever. So far, I’m doing dishes for a week and I’m never getting a blowjob in the month of October. All she does is bet on the fucking dogs names and she kills me.
Heart In Guinness
Nothing says love like affectionate beer art “this dog is named Pretty Pretty Buttercup and he’s never won a race. I’ll pick him to win.” Ten minutes later, that stupid dog will upset all the others and suddenly I’m taking out the trash. We should’ve moved to Vegas. The greatest thing about the track is we’ve now figured out that you can sneak in booze pretty easy. There’s no gambling age either. You’ll see 8 year old kids pissing away their allowances like crazy. Good thing Chris Ganz and Louie didn’t live here when they were children, they’d be in debt to the mob by the time they were 12 years old.
Seriously though, we don’t smoke crack and we don’t gamble money, it was just a clever and catchy title.
They Call Him Fergal
Let me tell you about our neighbor Fergal. Fergal is 25 years old. Fergal is a drunk. Fergal is the nicest guy alive sober. Fergal is never sober. Fergal is a liberal, softy when he doesn’t drink. Fergal is a racist, fascist when he does. Fergal drinks a lot. On our second day hanging out, Fergal magically had a black eye from the night before; he drank three shots
Naked Couch
Tara likes to take naked pictures of me of whiskey in 10 minutes, fell into a closet and didn’t move for about a minute. Then he watched the new Batman movie on full TV volume and yelled a bunch. He’s actually a lot of fun. He introduced me to Buckfast, which is basically speed, wine, and syrup in a liter bottle. One of those will keep you up for days and pissing out your ass when it’s all over. After drinking two bottles with him, the black eye makes more sense.
In a few quick notes. For some reason our house is always moist. Actually it appears to be all Irish homes/apartments, etc. Everything is just moist all the time. It’s sort of like living with a humidifier on all the time. The only real down side to this is that for some reason my big toe nails are turning black. They’re showing no signs of falling off, but if I get some sort of toe fungus and my big toes have to be amputated then I’m going to have no choice but run for president when I’m 40, win and then declare war on Ireland.
I’ve also been watching Ratatouie a lot lately. I’m not depressed or onand no I don’t want to be a chef, that’s what people say they want to do with their lives when they can’t figure out what they want to do with their lives. Besides, I can’t open a restaurant that only serves meat, potatoes, salt and gravy. Or maybe i could in Oregon and call it, "FUGLIES."
How is this all important to your life? It's not, but if you don't keep reading these blogs, you'll get AIDS.
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