HAY GUYTH HOW WAS YOUR CHRITHMATH
For Christmas, The Mom gave The Sister and I a card that said something like, "I love you, and the love you give me every day of every year is a gift in itself. I hope I can do a fraction of that for you" or something to that effect or whatever. SAPPY SAPPY SAP.
Last year, she made The Sister and I separate and very large photo albums documenting our growth from infant to adulthood. ULTRA SAPPY SAPPY SAP.
The Mom's gifts makes My Sister's Keeper look like Freddy Got Fingered.
The Mom's gifts make Ellen Degeneres look like Hitler while having sex with Jew babies.
The Mom's gifts make Jesus look like a coward.
The Mom's gifts make Hallmark commercials look like shit-fucking videos. You know, where people shit on each other and fuck.
New Year's Eve depresses me. For many, it's a fresh start. Sometimes I fool myself that it's a fresh start, but whenever everyone starts counting down from 10, I immediately realize I am one year closer to dying.
I think about dying a lot because it freaks me out. I imagine all sorts of ways I could die. It's weird. I think it's because the year change has me convinced that the last year is officially dead.
People say you shouldn't be afraid of dying.
I'd like to see what these people think when a truck comes careening towards the side of their car at 95 miles per hour.
Oh my god, the lines at the movie theatre this past weekend were incredible. It was packed. Avatar was sold out for all showings until 2 a.m. and there was no way I was going to pay and see the squeakuel or Guy Ritchie's latest jerk-off summit, so The Vo and I ended up watching It's Complicated.
I'd like to explain why I sorta enjoyed it, but it's complicated. < / Gene Shalit >
Every day this week: A song that will loosely illustrate a significant part of my 2009.
The Beach Boys
"In My Blog-- I mean "In My Room":