Insomniacs have to sleep sometimes

The only things that are keeping my head from slamming into my keyboard are 1) my hands & 2) the 2 x 4 propped under my chin. It's about 330 in the afternoon and all I want to do is say "night-night". Remind me to NEVER take mid-afternoon naps ever AGAIN!!!! I wish that my lack of sleep was directly related to a late night drinking session, but no, it's not. I just want to take a fucking NAP!!!! The 2 x 4 is starting to become slightly uncomfortable and I'm getting a crick in the back of my neck. At this point I'm prepared to ditch the wood and go for something slightly more...shall we say, 'Clockwork Orange-ish'? Yes people, you know what I'm talking about. The one 'ever fixed mark' that will forever be bludgeoned into my memory (besides the gratuitous sex scenes) that till this very day makes my eyelashes curl all on their own...the contraption.
If anyone has access to one of these it will save me the time and energy of looking for those nifty little olive grabbers that go for $30 at Williams-Sonoma, or I suppose I could go the ghe-tto way and just pin my eyelids to my eyebrows with sewing pins. (I am virtually invisible to physical pain...MOST of the time.)

Wait a minute! STOP! Hold the fucking presses! Why the hell does he have a Mona Lisa grin on his face? Place a finger over his eyes and tell me that what remains is not a look of content. GODDAMNIT Stanley, you let something slip by you. I understand that this is a still, and the overall feel for this scene is one of dementia, but this bothers me.

TANGENT! I'm tired, and now I'm bored, I thought that this would help (writing that is), and although I thought it was working it's NOT!

FUCK Williams-Sonoma hand me the pin cushion.

The Ship is going DOWN

I realize when you get to the end of this blog it will say that I started writing this at 9:22ish in the morning. Yeah, so what? This will be a short preface to the events that will taking place tonite at Dimples. There are only a select few that I would consider going to this bar with. D, you are lucky that you are one of them. Not to mention that after today's events that still have yet to take place, you are really going to need a night out to drown in some HYPNO.

For my fellow pirates who know not what 'Dimples' is, well...it's a karaoke bar in beautiful Burbank, California directly across the street from every major television studio known to man. And yes ladies, the man does work across the street in the Rhino Records building...(consider that my homage to you Brainpanic). On any given night, and I mean ANY GIVEN NIGHT, you can run into Dennis Haskins. Who the fuck is Dennis you ask? Why good ol' Mr. Belding of Saved by the Bell fame. So come one and come all to not only celebrate D's 2nd birthday party, but to see the musical stylings of Dennis Haskins. He's especially hot when he does his redition of Tom Jones' "It's Not Unusual", I even get wet between the legs. And, if that doesn't do it for you, D has told me that she plans to unleash the Dor-I tonight, that in itself folks is quite a treat. HEH. And, if you have fallen prey to the Dor-I before and you long to be taken into someone else's insanity the Chaquita flew into town yesterday and plans on singing all of her ballads in a wheelchair wearing a money coat. (I promise that follow up photos will be up soon) Till tonight I shall say adieu, raise your crunk cups, and give me an AHRG!

The sirod crashed and burns once again

Who is to say why she finds herself in these predicaments. Intimidating? Very much so. Absolutely obnoxious? Only after a five course dinner...or breakfast...or lunch. Loyal? More loyal than Tuna to Jay. Perhaps I'm impartial towards the entire situation since, after all, the two parties involved happen to be two of my best friends. One is lonely and the other is a MOTHERFUCKER, also known as MAN.

Let us refer to MAN as MF for the duration of this rant, for I am a very forgiving person...but just not today. MF #1 thought that he was just "too cool for school" and figured that just because he met a girl in a bar that all she wanted was to be treated like the booty-call that she isn't. C'mon now, sirod isn't me. Someone needs to tell this ipod jerk-off that any sort of communication after 2:30 in the fucking morning will be construed as a booty-call and if the girl has any insight on her own self worth she will be smart enough to tell the ipod jerk-off MF to 'FUCK OFF!', which she did, and I am very proud of her. The MF on the other hand needs to come to the conclusion that he treated the mother of the children he is never going to have with her like a piece of shit. He then proceeded to not even pick her up and toss her in the trash, but to leave her out in the sun to dry and eventually turn into shit dust. But did the MF even have the decency to sweep her up? No, instead he preferred to leave the pile of shit dust along the pathway to his front door and continues to leave his door open a crack. If I ever meet this wanker in person, so help me...his grandchildren are going to feel it in their balls.

MF #2, who so happens to be my best male friend, knows that he was the ultimate fuck-up of the century on Saturday night, and I know this because it's Monday night and he still hasn't called me. He proceeded to flirt with one girl while completely ignoring the one that he is on love with. Then he sought out to pawn her off to his friend, which by the way MF's is the shiestiest move any scumbag can pull. Who the fuck do you think you are in your Diesel kicks and your Norton's jacket sittin' there by candle light with your pirate grog in hand? Fuck You! She doesn't need saving, and she can't sack up and say it to your face. So I will. You see her for who she is, and the ipod jerk-off doesn't even have a clue as to who she is. You admitted to being drawn to her...like this unstoppable force that plagues your every thought (i know this because you told me so) and yet you continue to sleep with your safety blanket. Grow up old man, 40 is just around the corner...