Big thanks to all of you loyal Scamps who decided that the idea of getting a good night's sleep on a Tuesday night is for pussies. Why sleep when you can rock your balls off with Scamper at TT the Bear's? On this point, I whole-heartedly concur. So thank you all for coming - as always, we appreciate it more than you know.
Sorry I missed yesterday's journal, but as advertised I slept most of the day away. I did manage to roll out of the womb of my bed long enough to experience my first manssage (that's a massage by a man, for those of you not familiar with made-up words).
Let me tell you - even the slightest threat that the act of having a man touch my naked flesh would remotely enter into the sphere of sexual was immediately obliterated when Sam dug his thumb halfway into my lung tissue and drove the point of his elbow deep into my soul. I don't know much about the gentle art of massage - are you supposed to bleed from your eyebrows an hour later?
In other news, I'm pretty sure the people I voted for in the primary won the election. (Haven't had the chance to check a newspaper, as I'm still gaining parts of my vision back from Sam's assault on my nervous system.) Back in my younger more idealistic days, I used to research the candidates and make decisions based on the issues. As a result, the people I voted for always lost. I mean, always. I never failed to back a loser - in fact, I'm pretty sure I voted for the Cleveland Browns for ombudsman at one stage.
Then, I discovered my secret weapon: my friend Christine. Now, I just ask Christine who I should vote for and follow her instructions blindly. Sure, she argues with me for a few minutes, saying things like "It's your voice, you should vote your conscience, blah blah blah." But eventually, I wear her ass down and she tells me what to do. I scribble the names on my hand like crib notes and voting only takes but a minute. Yay democracy!
Think about it - if I have car trouble, I call my little brother because he knows way more about cars than I do. (My solution to most car-related problems is to coat the steering wheel with a layer of mayonnaise. Rarely works.) If I need a recommendation for a mansseuse that will scrape the dead cells off my kidneys, I'll go to my most metrosexual friend Vinny. When it comes to voting, Christine is my woman.
You see, Christine is way WAY smarter than me. She's the sort of woman that I want making important decisions for me. Because I'm a moron and I'll vote wrong. America is a much better place if someone like Christine gets two votes, whereas someone like me gets none. It's justice, people.
Sorry I missed yesterday's journal, but as advertised I slept most of the day away. I did manage to roll out of the womb of my bed long enough to experience my first manssage (that's a massage by a man, for those of you not familiar with made-up words).
Let me tell you - even the slightest threat that the act of having a man touch my naked flesh would remotely enter into the sphere of sexual was immediately obliterated when Sam dug his thumb halfway into my lung tissue and drove the point of his elbow deep into my soul. I don't know much about the gentle art of massage - are you supposed to bleed from your eyebrows an hour later?
In other news, I'm pretty sure the people I voted for in the primary won the election. (Haven't had the chance to check a newspaper, as I'm still gaining parts of my vision back from Sam's assault on my nervous system.) Back in my younger more idealistic days, I used to research the candidates and make decisions based on the issues. As a result, the people I voted for always lost. I mean, always. I never failed to back a loser - in fact, I'm pretty sure I voted for the Cleveland Browns for ombudsman at one stage.
Then, I discovered my secret weapon: my friend Christine. Now, I just ask Christine who I should vote for and follow her instructions blindly. Sure, she argues with me for a few minutes, saying things like "It's your voice, you should vote your conscience, blah blah blah." But eventually, I wear her ass down and she tells me what to do. I scribble the names on my hand like crib notes and voting only takes but a minute. Yay democracy!
Think about it - if I have car trouble, I call my little brother because he knows way more about cars than I do. (My solution to most car-related problems is to coat the steering wheel with a layer of mayonnaise. Rarely works.) If I need a recommendation for a mansseuse that will scrape the dead cells off my kidneys, I'll go to my most metrosexual friend Vinny. When it comes to voting, Christine is my woman.
You see, Christine is way WAY smarter than me. She's the sort of woman that I want making important decisions for me. Because I'm a moron and I'll vote wrong. America is a much better place if someone like Christine gets two votes, whereas someone like me gets none. It's justice, people.
5 Comments:
Remember now, that wasn't a massage, it was massage therapy. The goal isn't so much to relax you as to break down muscle tissue so it has a chance to heal. If you want relaxation, may I suggest any of the dozens of lovely Asian-themed spas along Revere's 'miracle mile'?
As for your kidneys, hell, they likely needed a little rejuvenation at this point, no?
...may I suggest any of the dozens of lovely Asian-themed spas along Revere's 'miracle mile'?
Leave Mike's brother out of this. A girl's got to make a living.
...may I suggest any of the dozens of lovely Asian-themed spas along Revere's 'miracle mile'?
Those places burned down anyway.
I wanted to be there sooooo badly. I was really sick. I was majorly bummed. I really rteally really reallly really really want a blue hippo poster.
really.
[i]...may I suggest any of the dozens of lovely Asian-themed spas along Revere's 'miracle mile'?[/i]
He doesn't need them. He has me.
See? You denied my awesome massage on Tuesday (though you were still awesome enough to give me mine) because you were getting a "professional one" the next day.
I hope you've learned your lesson.
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