Took a quick trip to New York cuz all my writer friends are on strike. As much as I like them all and understand their cause and think they should get paid more than the actors etc, you know on account of actors being mostly douchebags, I still wanted to take the opportunity to meet a couple of their bosses cuz I knew they wouldn't have much goin on and I wanted to see how the monkeys managed without with the trainers who were out picketing on broadway.
Letterman's studio was completely empty, they even removed the set and TV show equipment. Save Letterman himself, one fat guy I assume was his best friend and a woman who appeared to be an anchorwoman from a small middle of fuck town It was nothin more than big black empty box. Lacking any kind of script, the camera man was taking liberties to do the art film he never wanted to do in college. There was a blue filter on the lens and he was getting really close up on Letterman's quivering facial features doing quick angular pans between the two as they talked about nothing. Letterman was not on his game, he needs them writers apparently -- otherwise it's straight to workin the merch table for The Blue Man group.
Regis on the other hand was killin it, better than ever, he had the whole crowd eating out of his underpants, like it was the best thing that ever happened to him being cut from loose them shackles cue cards. He punched Kelly Ripa in the balls. Just kidding, But it wouldda been cool. The audience wanted it. Nothin against Kelly Ripa of course.
Outside on the street all the writers were having a garage sale to raise money on account of not working. I bought a pair of socks from a super famous dude whose name I can't remember.
Then I bought another race car and entered in the mountain race. I really know how to drive in the mountains, there ain't a cliff on earth I won't mock with my awesome skills bro. I'm not sure what the whole point of purposely ripping big holes in the pavement is, but it was fucking up my shocks and bruising my brain. Good thing I had a Flinstones hole in the floor and could put my feet down to lift the car over the really bullshit holes.
BTW I can make my feet grow, just like how a wiener turns into a boner, but feet.
Wouldn't it be cool if you could do that with any body part?
I bet the person who wrote Pinocchio was a child molester.
I mean think of Pinocchio giving an upside down blowjob, where would his nose be?
Exactly.
Total homo puppet molester shit.
I drew some really really good cartoons of my brother -- I'd show them to you but they seem to have disappeared. Art thieves probs.
I developed a system to fold any given gigantic piece of paper into a manageable sized book type deal, It's kinda hard to explain the process and also a bit boring but the end result allowed me to fold the entire ceiling of the Mormon Tabernacle into a book about ten times the size of an average dictionary. Of course I flipped through it and vandalized all the paintings by drawing classic spooging penises on everything. People try too hard when it comes to vandalism, the squirting dick is a classic, why fix what ain't broke? Anyway, when I unfolded the ceiling back into place people were pissed. Mormons ain't got no humor bro.
The only person that wasn't totally pissed at me was a big huge fat dude that had apple skin for skin. Like literally his skin wasn't human, it was apple skin, apparently he's the only one, some kind of mutant. It was part red, part green with little white speckles, mostly green, like a green apple with a sunburn. It was very very cool. I wanted to bite him to see if he was crunchy because although he was shaped like a blubbery fat guy, he seemed solid and crisp like an apple. Anyway, I didn't bite him because of something called ummm -- courtesy? DUH!
Thinking of apples makes me thirsty.
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