i snored last nite watching dodgeball and i swatted when i was told to go off to bed and i was almost left on the couch for a laugh.

we’ve now added a bass to the band and things are, cooler, i guess.

because of all the smoking and talking and late-nites what is my life, in the morning i sound like a craggy old man/going-thru-puberty boy and it lasts all fucking day long until maybe 7 or so and i’m worried i am going to sound like this forever.

like courtney love, basically.

i have to ham it up and talk like a mouse or three year old girl or some made-up cartoon character not invented yet so as to not strain my vocal-chords and everytime i pass a dog/cat/little kid on the street it’s a huge sigh of relief/excuse to talk like this at/to them and the kid is all over it and the parents are like, harhuhuhuhuh, what is her problem?

shut up, it’s genetic.

rocky the cat is getting his haircut today so he can look like a little monkey and hide in the christmas tree that’s existed since christmas was invented.

when i wake up in the morning, because my hair is now that multi-coloured blondeness (fried/dried-out/fucked) – my hair is all farrah fawcetty, bird’s nest, all over the place and when i go to the coffeeplace with my heroin-addict/movie star sunglasses the girls swoon and say how nice i look and i am like please please don’t ask to try on the sunglasses again ‘cos all these old ladies will have heart attacks when they see my alice cooper junky eye make-up and if they step closer they will notice tiny little birds are actually nesting in my hair making bird colonies and forming their own government and naming streets and then these nice ladies won’t think i look so fucking nice and then i’ll have to go to the other coffeeplace and be even more neurotic over there.

i am totally moving out of town so i don’t have to feel guilty about being a scumbag and fake like i am not.

kidding.

i’m moving because i drank the town dry.