Well, wuc me gently with a chainsaw.

So. This week’s been fairly Oliver Stone, I don’t mind sayin’. Or, as the kindly black man says to the portly, ultimately acquiescent Kellerman at the close of Dirty Dancing: lots of changes, old Max. Lots of changes. First, I had drinks with the gunslingers. I know, right. I have no godly excuse for suchContinue reading “Well, wuc me gently with a chainsaw.”

What the wuc just happened?

I’m back. Like a chump who shows up to her bat mitzvah at 32. So. Um, how’ve you been? [Looks awkward and shuffles feet.] Good? You been good? Sweet Mary. The guilt I’ve felt for letting my wuc grow cobwebs! (Ewww.) We’re talking, Catholic guilt. Teenage pregnancy guilt. Hairy armpits guilt. Guilt. But I returnContinue reading “What the wuc just happened?”

Do that voodoo you do so well.

I feel happy today. Like a jelly bean after a lavish spa treatment. It aint a Disney day, understand. But my undies are nevertheless alive with the sound of Cusack. The factors to my blissful briefs (aka the pantaloon union) are thus: they’re clean Gay Prince is in da hizzie (whoop whoop) I’ve been offered aContinue reading “Do that voodoo you do so well.”

It’s Howdy Doody time.

And she’s back in the game! (Gallops onto stage with mop and cowboy hat) (Bad Boy Bubby of the executive set). Howdy y’all (tip of the hat) and wassup mutherfuckers (to the roughians in the back). Apols for the satellite delay. I’ve been in a cult boy / gunslinger meltdown from which it took aContinue reading “It’s Howdy Doody time.”

Damn the man. Save the Empire!

I feel weary. We’re talking, hiking up a pair of concrete undies with spindly Mr Burns arms, weary. Battle commander for the Alliance, stuck on a decimated planet ravaged by a decade of war, fighting for the mining rights to a source that’ll end the world’s energy crisis, weary. You get the drill bit. Motherfucken weary,Continue reading “Damn the man. Save the Empire!”