And why doesn't the coffee shop deliver?

It's 71 and sunny and I have a whole list of fun things I can do today (really--a list) and I can't get this fucking permafrown off my face long enough to go do any of it. Last night I worked late tattooing the twitchiest man alive with the dumbest tattoo I've done since I did that Taz holding a shotgun in one hand and a confederate flag in the other.

Then, when I went to the awesome dump of a bar with Kara I couldn't even play darts because somehow I lost my driver's license. A week ago. And just now realized it. And you know the probability of finding it is inversely proportionate to the length of time it's been missing so that thing is fucked.

Oh, but I almost forgot the good news. My MasterCard should be up for a promotion soon following its unusually hard work over the last couple of days buying all that internet crap for the guy in Oslo who stole my credit card number. Way to go, you silver piece of shit.

The REAL story.

Can we post "adult content" on this blog? Because there's no sense leaving out all the interesting parts. Like when Moronica found those lost hikers and agreed to take them back to town but only after Bars and Babbles took turns defiling them on the picnic table while the rest of us watched.

What? That doesn't sound likely? Well fuck you and your skepticism! Sure, what really went down was a lot of drinking and reading (including a fair amount of Nancy Friday, it would seem) and sitting around being assholes. But fortunately for us that's exactly the kind of shit we're into.

Those bastards at the cable company...

...took away my cable this afternoon. Apparently they did an audit of what customers where paying, and compared it with what services customers were receiving. Fucking assholes.

Life no longer has meaning.

what the hell was I thinking.

No, I know what I was thinking and it was something like this (in whiny high-schooler voice): "Why NOT run for senior class president? It's not like class officers actually DO anything. Plus, It'll look really good on my transcript."

I found out the day of the "election" that the senior class president is responsible for planning class reunions. I tried to back out of the race (failed), won, and have been worrying about it for the last. nine. years.

I could refuse to acknowledge the responsibility (like I've been planning on doing) and let someone else take it over at the last minute when they realize it's not getting done any other way. Or I could bite the bullet, enlist the help of all my fuckface high school friends, and start planning a goddamn 10-year class reunion. I generally consider avoidance of guilt a pretty piss poor motive for action, but that's not necessarily going to stop me.

The worst part: My transcript? Srsly?! If only I had known then what I know now. I would have had a lot more sex, smoked a lot more pot, and I would have had a much less impressive fucking transcript.