I'm not really all that mysterious

Fragged and Shagged

I feel like bits of my brain have been dribbling out this past week, smeared across spacetime. These are the pieces that I’m left with, strange isolated incidents that I’m forced to ponder as time passes at a plodding pace.

So on Saturday, recovering from a bout of drinking until 5:30 a.m., I finally hear “Come On Down” by Crystal Waters and I freak out. What sick bastard samples the theme song of “The Price Is Right,” for God’s sake? In any case, as we zoomed down U.S. 41 at 70 mph, I started to think that that particular game show theme song sounds a lot like a space opera theme song, something akin to the themes songs for “Star Trek” or “Battlestar Galactica.” In any case, “Come On Down” would probably be extraordinarily entertaining if you’re on hallucinogens.

I never thought I’d hear the term “general debauchery” in a radio commercial. I swear it. This wasn’t even “Loveline” or anything like that. (What was the name of that club again?)

Random snippet of conversation:

Our relationship is crazy enough as it is. The last thing we need are sex changes.

My reaction? Don’t ask, don’t tell. Hear no evil, see no evil. Ignorance is bliss. Hehe.

Yes it’s oh-so-very true, the more you say you shouldn’t do something, the more likely it is that you will, and I wonder why I continue to speed down this pathway of certain destruction, having already witnessed twice if not thrice the destruction and mayhem such tomfoolery can wreak, particularly in such close quarters. No, I refuse to admit it. I don’t feel a damn thing. Nothing of the sort. I won’t do it. No, no, no, no, no! (But of course I will!)

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