I might be coming down with something. That's not good. Feels like a fever.
God, after getting home at approximately 1:30 PM I sat for an hour and a half straight eating sandwiches that we purchased in the big city. I'm still bloated to this hour, two hours later.
I've always hated radios. The only one I have that actually has batteries is this twenty year old handheld one my mom got for free at work. Just trying to get the signal is frustrating. Being in the car on bumpy roads as bumpy as Larry Flint's chin and the exact opposite of Michael Bolton's balding scalp - I have to hold the radio in my hand and wave it around like an ass trying to get the signal. Then upon finding the right place, I have to keep my arm raised in the air like a chicken's scrawny feet sticking up when the chicken is being raped by The Chicken Lover in the Mystery Machine.
We passed by a dude who looked like Philip Michael Thomas wearing a chinese outfit with the gold trim and hat and sunglasses and all. He nodded at me. He's cool.
K-Rock was having a Heavy Metal Madness thing or whatever. Thank goodness, thank Jimmy Page, thank Gilbert Gottfried, they did not play Winger. They did play Bon Jovi and Whitesnake though. I laughed. They played Guns n' Roses, just while going home when the car drives into the Holland Tunnel. The damn piece of shit loses the signal and I hear static with bits and pieces of pussy vocals.
Velvet Revolver added me back at Myspace. That's pretty crazy.
Scariest picture of Scott Weiland ever. I'd say it's a mix of Axl and Lynyrd Skynrd fanaticism to the point of brewing your own scotch and beating your wife until she looks like a pregnant orange pulp. I mean, look at the pansy bandana and wife beater shirt. God, uncovered prunes left in the fridge for two weeks have better skin than that.
Christina N. @ 5:49 PM
