So he never answered me. So what?
Where was I?
I was explaining what was going on in that brain of mine when I asked L. Falk to, uh, escort me to the bash. Like it’s true what they say about safe s*x being the same as no s*x, right? I mean, thank God for the Hitachi Magic Wand. The last time I got laid was seven, count them, seven goddamn weeks ago when I broke a cardinal New Year’s resolution and smoked my own dope instead of selling it and wound up in the sack with this Polish-origin nose tackle on Backwater’s football team. The dialogue went from baaaaad to woooorse. “So get the c****m,” I told him when the kettle started boiling. I remember all motion suddenly stopped. “What c****m?” the nose tackle asked in panic. I didn’t beat around
