Thursday, October 30, 2003

Catch You Later

I’m not exactly a procrastinator.  That is to say, I’ve never actually gotten paid for it.

then you’re doing it wrong cuz i ALWAYS get something out of it.

i’m so glad you like your hat! it’ll be ziplocked your way soon!

pea, I’m just saying that I’m an amateur crastinator; I do it more for pleasure than profit.  If you have a money-making tip for me, I’m all ears - but I guess I shouldn’t be waiting for it, eh? 

Amy - in the past two days the temp has dropped from a high of 93 in SF to a high in the low 60s to upper 50s.  In some parts of the world that might be balmy but here it’s quite an eyeopener.  Hattage is required for baldies like me, and styling handmade hattage has got me positively gleeful!

So, what then?  An amacrastinator?  A minor leagenator?  A collegenator?  A hobbastinator?

CW, hobbastinators have hairier ears and feet than even I do, and live underground with Ian McEllan.  If you’ve ever waited for me to get my game on, you’ll know I’m no minorleaguanator.  Collegenator comes close but sounds like the thing that provided electricity to my dorm.  I think amacrastinator is the best choice. 

While I’m at it, Kel bought several hunks of pig flesh last weekend so I could cook up my patented killer carnitas, but that hasn’t happened yet.  Maybe I’m a porkrastinator.

I was hoping at least a few of the 10 puns I sent here would get posted, but no pun in ten did.

ow. ow ow ow ow ow.

This is cruel and inhuman punishment—no wonder the wife told me to check in.  I should have put it off.

what does not kill me makes me flick a lit cigarette at the russian tourists that drive up to coit tower and stand on that concrete circle and talk funny and take pictures of themselves while i’m sitting on those steps tryin’ to watch eastbay lights roll around the bay.

and then i get pissed because they made me waste a cigarette.

so i start yellin’ at ‘em.

“hey, dmitri,” i yell, “what the fuck? there aren’t enough shitty ass photographs of pasty-assed russians wearing gold lame jogging suits in this world? i’m tryin’ to smoke a cigarette here.”

and they look at me, all confused like.

so i start yellin’ at ‘em.

“hey olga,” i yell, “what the shit? you’re lookin’ at me like you’ve never pissed anyone off before. but i know you have. of course you have. look at that fucking sweatsuit. that thing would piss off the dalai lama. and i’m not talkin’ about the dalai lama right now, lady. i’m talkin’ about the dalai lama after his eyes get gougeded out by a fucking retarded legless christian. because then he’d be blind and shit, which means he wouldn’t even be able to see how ugly that shit is. but it’s so ugly that he could fucking smell it, he could fucking taste it. and he’d fling his fucking buddhist feces at it to try to cover up the gold lame and make it go away.”

and then i walk down the hill to my house to dump all the quarters out of my piggy bank so i can buy some more cigarettes.

(hey, dan.)

you are so fucking much fun… thanks

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