I met the head coach of The SF Giants. He had the head of an infant. I'm not being poetic here, his head was literally infant sized. His hair was baby fine, he had no facial hair and his eyes were puffy and shut. He also had no teeth.
HE HAD THE ACTUAL HEAD OF AN INFANT I TELL YOU.
I didn't check for a soft spot but I'd bet my dad's left nut he had one.
I saw my old dog Senator Ron "Chico" Lopez. He wasn't looking so good. He was swollen and puffy and had what appeared to be multiple stab wounds. If it wasn't for his sweet gentlemanly demeanor, I probably wouldn't have even known it was him.
I asked his new family if they could get me some blankets for him. But they said the wind would just blow them away anyway. I'm sad he moved away. He had his reasons I suppose. I was tempted to ask him to come back home but I didn't want to impinge upon his dignity by inferring that maybe he made a mistake by leaving me for greener pastures.
It was great to see him, even if he did look like a sack of death.
They were right about the wind though, a big gust came along and blew the whole family clean away, hybrid station wagon and all.
Chico seemed indifferent about it.
I left Chico and visited The Blue House which has been a sorority full of 8-15 girls for the last 50 years or so. It started out just being a group of college roommates but eventually, girls stopped moving out and they all just grew old together. It's not the same now that they are all old. They should rename it The Blue HAIR House, AM I RIGHT OR WHAT?
I bet the parties suck now.
On a side note, before the girls moved in someone was brutally murdered in one of the basement bedrooms. I, along with many others, knew about it but most of the girls didn't. I made out with a girl in The Murder Bedroom once. She didn't know the history and I didn't tell her. It was her bedroom for fucks sake. I'M NOT A CREEP YOU KNOW.
Out back by the garage were a couple of old grampa dudes that were probably some of the original visitors to The Blue House. They were listening to KISS as if it was a brand new band. I pretended that they were awesome but really it made me want to cry.
I cry about the gayest shit.
I came away from the day wanting to release my next record on vinyl.
SO STUPID.
I hate people who blather on about vinyl.
Point is:
NOSTALGIA CAUSES CANCER
That's all for now.
Don't get caught skipping the part where you had lots of disconnected public sex with a girl you never dreamed you'd do but what do you do when that vagina is all up in your face like that?
Your Best Way To Describe The Appearance of That Very Vagina,
Neatly Folded Cold Cuts
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