Wednesday, March 09, 2005

He Said "Pole"

Well, here I go. I've got my paper towels, hand cream and naked pictures of Hillary Swank. I'm ready to blog!

This blog might not be up to my consistantly lofty standards because I don't feel that great. Actually, I feel as though I've been teabagged by an elephant. I didn't get a lot of sleep last night, you see. This was due to the damned snow storm we had. I got home after a harrowing drive but couldn't park near my house because of the parking ban. So I went downtown and parked in the parking garage thinking I could get a taxi home. Only the taxis weren't running due to the weather. Yes, it was that bad.

Now my sister, Wheel Gun Mika (a.k.a. Momma Cod God), is known to call me on the cell phone at all hours of the night inviting me over to "pound some Jack." It was about 2AM and I was settled in my car about to fall asleep when she called. Good thing. I was getting cold. So I walked the couple of blocks to her house feeling like Ernest Shackleton at the South Pole.

We were up till who knows when polishing off a fifth of JD. Then I took a nap, visited the lovely ladies at Ceres Bakery across the alley way from my sister's and headed home. Jesus, what a night.

My new car is a Toyota Cellica. It rules. Drives well in the snow and has a fucking CD player. I broke the car in well last night on the ride home in the storm, though. I lost a hub cap and probably took an inch off the clutch trying to get un-stuck at one point. It still has that new car smell us men love so much. That's the second best smell in the world. What is the first? Well it sure the hell ain't bacon.

I must get back to work now. I'm trying to stay awake. I've got more shit on my mind and I will spew it forth in my usual eloquent, understated way as soon as I recover fully from my recent travails.


At 1:43 AM, Blogger B-Face said...

You're right, the best smell in the world ain't bacon (that's third). It's a toss-up between the smoke left over after an early morning ignition of a home-made black-powder bomb (named a yinga by WGB, for all you Wheel Gun Groupies) drifting over the lake up on Mount Sunapee and the residual odor of nitro-methane burned by a top-fuel dragster on the strip at New England Dragway in Epping, New Hampshire. I'm okay in the head, I swear.


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