OK. We so don't, but boy oh boy it's been hard to get motivated and moving this week. Are we the only ones? Sheesh. We were ridiculously motivated last night with the Journey listening and the dishwashing and the picking outfits and all of these things, but this morning? More with the coffee and less with the funny riffs, we know.
Carlin died. No blog. Imus in trouble and Al Sharpton (*Al* *Sharpton*) deciding whether he will "take action"? No blog. Hung out with a prostitute Saturday night? No blog.
Wait. What?
Yes. Cadence had to be an escort, what with *that* name, her lack of any ID and her boobs doing her talking for her. Nice girl, though. Just graduated college. From Michigan. No. We didn't go all the Spitzer on her. We just tried, valiantly, to get her to admit she sold her body for money while she sat there, alone in a bar in Center City, and avoided question after question from us.
Russert would've been proud.
What. Too soon?
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6 comments:
what bar. no call.
Ruby Tuesday. Seriously. Hence no call. You're better than that. We had no say, really. Oh with the making everyone happy.
That's too horrendous for words.
Oh, you're blogging again. Or wait? Were you gone or was I? Did I miss much? I'm back and ready to hear what the Old Man has to say.
I'm blogging again too... but it's all heartache and self-pity. Don't bother reading if you know what's good for you.
NO UPDATES. WHAT THE FUCK.
Holy sh*t. Comments? Joelle? Joelle and comments? It's like 2006! Welcome back, all!
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