December 2009
new year's eve coffee.
not unlike St. Patrick’s Day or the night before Thanksgiving, New Year’s Eve is fucking amateur hour. sure, I once partook in the festivities… ten years ago. nowadays, I’m just as (if not more) satisfied with staying in and curling up next to the fire with a gravity bong and half gallon of moonshine. because, well, I’m a yuppie in my 30’s and that’s...
wednesday morning coffee.
I’m going to go ahead and get this out of the way from the get-go: I hate Oprah.
that said, her show was on in the locker room yesterday while I was at the gym; why, I am unsure. the subject of the program was a mother and son who habitually popped vicodin together. this led me to wonder what Queen O must think of fathers and sons who habitually visit strip clubs with one another. not...
tuesday morning coffee.
I want you to be completely honest with me: what ARE you going to do when Hulkamania runs wild on you?
good morning.
monday morning coffee.
amidst a Captain Morgan-induced haze over Thanksgiving, Fos called yours truly a “yuppie.” at first I took offense to it even though it wasn’t meant to be derogatory; I suppose both the rum and stigma got my panties in a bunch. this past holiday weekend, the subject was brought up again and I broke down and admitted my yuppieness.
after all, Mems and I gave each other a...
wednesday morning coffee.
and so the mania of the holidays begins as I jet back to mittenland for a brief, truncated and not nearly as anticipated version of my recent Thanksgiving adventure. in preparation, I have hooked up an IV of spiced rum to my left arm and filled my MacBook with 20GB of Alison Brie pics. ain’t nothin’ says “Happy Holidays” quite like a drunk Peabs with a raging fucking hard...
