I’m not going to lie to you people; I am sexually frustrated.
In addition, my wisdom teeth are breaking through, so, all in all, it’s been a crappy past few days.
I’ll touch lightly on why these two occurrences don’t live well with each other.
Well, your face hurts so bad that you develop a headache that feels more like an alien worm is burrowing through your skull than whatever it is that causes headaches.
So, a really bad headache and extreme horniness only leads to a worse headache.
Pardon me if this isn’t the funniest Cuff of the semester.
Anywho, spring is in the air.
Ah yes, the metaphorical season of love and fertility, growth and prosperity, youth and beauty.
Spring Break, ’cause I ain’t buyin’ it.
Why? Because while I stood in a Dillard’s dressing room trying on bathing suits, I realized that beauty is only attained by the beautiful, the young get older and older every day, I’m f***ing broke, I wish I were taller, I don’t know of anyone who has ever loved me, and the most fertile place I can think of is my shower drain.
So, screw you spring!
I even have to lose an hour of sleep because of your sorry ass.
Take no pity; after all, you’re the “divine season.”
Damn it, my mouth hurts!
Give me winter any day.
At least its expectations of you are smaller.
And, you get Christmas and Hanukah and Kwanzaa and whatever else.
Ah, forget about it.
Just go ahead and enjoy the warmth — that, or pay out the ass to Entergy.
I tried really hard to get in the spring spirit.
I even wore my sear-sucker pants yesterday — and it “effing” rained!
(Hold on, I’m breathing.)
I need a cigarette.
There is one good thing about spring and summer, boat drinks.
God, how I do love boat drinks and good white wines.
There’s not much better than a nice glass of Pinot Grigio late at night in the back of a pick up truck rolling down deserted state highways chunking empty glass bottles at road signs and the occasional stumbling pedestrian.
But other than that, spring pretty much sucks!
There’s nothing but re-runs on TV, the movies always suck this time of year, and it’s hot.
Hot is to Jay as Michael Jackson is to eight-year-old boys: it’s uncomfortable and it’s always gonna suck.
Oh yeah, you know that girl who put the restraining order on me, and made that horrible remark about my “vienna sausage” in a letter to the editor?
Well it’s her birthday today.
So, happy birthday Jolie. I hope this doesn’t violate any court orders.