Jay Mixes A Drink

It's time for another throat-searing and tongue-lacerating stream-of-consciousness foray into the exciting, inpenetrable world of alcohol. And I blow on my white Russian like it's a mug of hot soup. And I take a sip. And I cringe and shake involuntarily. And I think, damn ain't that Flava Flav awesome. He's like, so open and honest with the TV audience, and Brigitte is like that too. I totally wish I could be open like that, but first I've gotta get myself on one of them VH1 reality shows, maybe that one with the fat celebrities, and then I'm gonna fall in love with some giant mutant freak woman. Won't it be romantic; I'll tell the whole world about it, in confessional format.

I'm only about a quarter of the way through this drink.

And that's another thing, he says wagging his finger, I want you to listen to me, I think it's the govern-ment that's out to get you. They're all wearing their suits and fancy Armani ties and they're talking about baseball like it's the national debt or Iraqi prison scandal. It's, it's, it's like they want to LOOK like they're doing something but, but... oh, crap, I'm falling.

Pillows are my friends. I... think... sometimes pillows are my only friends. Like how they're soft and they catch you when you land on them.... Okay, I gotta admit that I'm only drinking now to keep myself uninhibited till Anne gets here late at night. I think I'd just fall asleep to the sweet, sweet strains of Conan O'Brien and write something half-coherent in the blog....

Still have like a third of the glass full. It's like my optimistic philosophy of life.