Kangaroo Fuckers and Random Tuesdays
It's been a long day. I have all these random thoughts and memories. Maybe in homage to Gracie, I should do some bullet points? Nah, but I dropped a pod reference into my poker post, since she had one from her post from yesterday.
Last 5 Random Tao of Pauly Google Referrals...
1. Young Girls fucking Kangaroos
2. Masturbation clubs in Boston
3. Big fat juicy cheeseburgers philadelphia
4. Pictures of the hugest penis in the world a healthy wise photo
5. It's not ok to kill strippers
Ok the last one is just creepy. I shiver everytime I think of the twisted and demented soul of the person who just googled "it's not ok to kill strippers." I hope he didn't bookmark my blog.
I hung out with two women on Tuesday that I used to have sex with. I had sex with neither. Am I losing my mojo faster than my hair? Or did I reach a level of maturity where I didn't think about hitting on them once? Or have I burnt out my libido trolling on myspace for 15 year old suburban cheerleaders with a serious addicition to performing felatio on middle-aged writers?
I gave a bum $1 today on the subway. He smelled like rotten eggs and wore a Blankman! t-shirt. I knew he was gonna buy smack or cheap wine but handed it over anyway. He barely thanked me and the cute chick wearing the $100 jeans and the hipster glasses who had her nose buried into her copy of a pink chick lit book didn't even notice my generosity. What a total waste. But I donated money to the poor. Then I lost $195 on Party Poker 10 hours later coincidence?
I saw three suits reading the Financial Times Tuesday on the subway. If you have seen it or read it, you know it's sort of peach-pinkish in color. One guy looked like he had been up all night doing coke and banging Brazilian shemales. I betcha he makes seven figures and spends more money on hookers in a month than teachers in Harlem make in a year.
I read over 70 pages of Charles Bukowski's Hollywood in the last 24 hours. It's a book about his experiences getting a movie made about his past. He was hired to write the screenplay by a bunch of crazy fuckers, and Hollyweird is crawling with them. These skullfuckers would whore out their own kids if the weren't making enough cash running an underground slave trade ring from Malaysia. How do you think movies like Snakes On a Plane get made? Someone's gotta suck enough cock or smuggle in enough heroin to pay for those crappy flicks. Or is that what gay porn is for?
I underlined two sentences in Bukowski's book, and I'm going to steal one line outright for a screenplay some day. That guy drinks more than AlCantHang, if that's possible. The coolest thing is that Bukowski was 65 when he penned the screenplay to Barfly.
The Yankees got rained out in Boston after getting their asses kicked on Monday night 7-3. It was only a two game series. So does that mean Boston swept? The bullpen blew it. And the Yankees couldn't hit Wakefield. What else is new?
I forgot to mention that I ate In & Out Burger with Spaceman last week. It was his last meal before he left Las Vegas and went home to Tennessee. By the way, I'm going to visit him and his wife Radiant Rachel in June. I bought my plane ticket to Tennessee the other day. I want them to take me to Waffle House at 3am. You think Las Vegas or New York City get weird at 3am... then you've never been to a Waffle House in the south around 3am. I can recall on incident back in Atlanta when one guy came in with blood all over his shirt. He just won a fight and was celebrating with a bowl of Bert's chili and a pecan waffle.
The last time I was in Waffle House was in Covington, Kentucky with Daddy and Iggy. Our waitress made fun of Iggy because he barely touched his breakfast. "I'm a girl and I eat more than you..." the young hottie said.
I heard that a Van Gogh painting just sold for $40 million. That's too much money. You could have bought a Kandinsky, a Philip Guston, two Willem de Koonings, an Odd Nerdruma, and three George Braques for $15 million and still have enough money to buy a house in Malibu and put your eight new paintings in there.
Some fucktard left an anonymous flame on my other site calling one of my posts drivel. Five minutes later, an editor contacted me about putting that exact piece of drivel into his publication... and he's gonna be paying me for it. Suck on that, cubicle boy!
When I walked through Times Square, usually there are Scientologist recruiters camped out giving free stress tests to New Yorkers in the hallway between the 1 train and the Shuttle to Grand Central Station. On Tuesday, they were nowhere to be found. My guess is they are all out doing publicity for MI3.
Ten minutes is up. See ya.