seriously. i was in africa. or not born. or just oblivious.
things i never knew about until recently:
who the stepford wives were.
who JR was, or why anyone cared who’d shot him.
now that i know these key pieces of information, i feel so much closer to middle-aged americana. hold me, wisconsin. i understand you now.

ain’t nobaby like this baby
reason that seastreet rocks, #540: because even drunk on a monday afternoon, he can still eloquently explain the difference between the alter ego and the super ego.

you haven’t had your share of fabulousness today. the situation is dangerous. as your spiritual advisor i insist…

that you trek across the bridge[s] to brooklyn tonight and go directly to galapagos. go there at eight. because there will be the cure to your fabulousness blues. the remedy to your monday misanthrope. the panacea to your workweek doldrums.
that’s right, kittens. it’s another night for shivery delicious. oh, and stick around for the letdowns, too. they strum a nice guitar, those boys, and they’re easy on the eyes.
so go to brooklyn. listen to some damn fine musical stylin’s. i can’t be there, but you can make me very very happy and cheer in my stead.
deal?