i believe that onomatopoeia should be spelled more like it sounds, and have something to do with peeing on people in public. i also believe that farting in a crowd is perfectly acceptable, and that trans fats are oh so yummy and delicious, hey rachel ray, is yummylicious a word (i hate that bitch).
that said, i've (sadly) arrived at the tail end of a 15-year bender. does my mood reflect the withdrawal? it's been a pretty good run, filled with nonsensical conversations with ????, hilarious blackouts, and oh so many times waking up alone on the couch (my couch?), fully dressed. but it's high time that i step away from the bottle and into a smaller waist band. holy shit, i've become something of a poster child for a) not having kids, b) the big and tall (minus the tall) men's shop, or c) raising the legal drinking age to 72. also, my new best friend forever, harry the broken blood vessel, has moved into my left cheek; quaint. and, i think the rest of my skin is permanently tinted yellow ochre (thanks to bob ross for the lesson in color).
i'm pretty sure i shouldn't have that constant sharp pain in my lower right abdomen (ehem, hepatitis anyone?).
nor should i have that constant throbbing coming from the right and left sides of my back (renal failure?).
but, i digress.
what i'd really like to talk about is bringing an end to world hunger, or paris hilton, whichever comes first (and likely miss hilton will come first, given she's now free from that incredibly unfair and unjust jail time, you go girl! straight to fucking hell. and fucking die.). i raise my hatred for paris hilton only because the fuckwits at boston.com thought it fitting to juxtapose the unfairness of her trial with senor bush's commuting of scooter libby's sentence on their home page today. (uses valley girl accent) seriously? omg! and, uh-uh, oh no they di-int!