Anonymous Outsider

Out In The Cold

I'm having mad server problems today. So much so that I'm going to have to do something called "walk downstairs" to buy the New York Observer. Somebody told me to look for the salmon colored thingy that costs a dollar, but to be careful because I may purchase something called the Financial Times -- which is all about money, or something. Wait, it's salmon colored? And costs a whole dollar? Ha, ha, right, I see, he's kidding. Seriously? Jesus. And people actually buy it? I'm going to steal the Post though. I don't care how cheap it is.

FYI: It Was The Booze, I Swear It

Readers of this morning's posts may have noticed a slight shift in my blogging style: the nonsensical style. Looking at my blog a minute ago, I realized, whereas my grammar and syntax may usually be inconsistent, it was, in my latest posts, sometimes nonexistent (I corrected the most glaring errors). Sentences trailed off into nowhere. Key words were out of place or missing. This, I admit, is cause for some embarrassment. And embarrassment calls for a measure of introspection. The resulting conclusion? Blogging in a trance-like drunken stupor is ill-advised. So as never to tempt myself with such activity again, I am resolved, when drinking seriously, never to come home before last call again. Cindy Crawford’s homoerotic party antics can wait until the morning.

Only Forty More Years Of This To Go

The horror of having to earn one's bread (and by bread, I mean, of course, cocaine and hookers) was thrown into stark relief this morning when my boss greeted me with -- instead of the usual avuncular prodding into the weekends activities and talk of his golf game -- a stack of work as high as a circus midget. Suffice to say, there will be little or nothing new on this site today. I am glad to announce, however, that we finally have someone to blame for fucking trucker hats and wallet chains. Tomorrow, I'll be back like nobody's business.