hi

oh that blessed bulldog, that blessed, blessed bulldog has just brought me home from a Bloom-like funk show and i am seeing double. props to me for being able to type. jesus. he is great. in sooooo many ways.

ALSO: he sayhs new years fellow is QUITE CAPABLE of taking you over hsi knee and he is very violent when he is playing soccar. that's all i know. must g o drink m ore now. duruntky, etc, love you. mwah!!

50. large 50.

dear bootiful partner in self-destructive alcoholism,

i miss you. so much. please. come back.

i was just at a scum-ish 'Oirish' pub with the bull dog enjoying 50 on tap and free mussels (!) and there was a little band there and the atmosphere was nice and good and obviously the 50 was deelicious. and the staff is actually irish and the mussel guy hit on me in my little adidas tennis dress.

and after two pints of 50, i suggested to the bulldog that we park the beetle (he's admirably absolute against drunky driving) and order a pitcher and some dinner and stay a while.

he was reasonable. what with tomorrow being pat's day and a heavy drinking day and with us eggspecting company tomorrow maybe it would be good not to go too hard tonight. and blah, blah, blah with his reasonable, responsible, sensical talk. and i LOVE him. and, sure, we hit the liquor store on the way home and, yes, i'm enjoying a quart of pilsner urquell in the cozyness of my own den now but . . .

GOD, don't i miss the days of a quick pint at the local clocktower turning into a couple pints turning into closing the place turning into hitting on the bar staff, staying for the after party, writing off our bill, taking the staff home for shenanigans and bongs and bacon and antique vibrators in the medicine cabinet and post-its on the sausages in the fridge and 'who's bruce and what is seeping into the jock river?' and chalking it up to just another tuesday night, and a gouda time was had by all. oh, and smoking, OH and smoking. oh and the tuck shop two doors down with that pam psycho bitch selling us deelicious cigarettes. what i wouldn't do for one now. oh god.

ah, loneliness. healthy, sober, non-smoking, well-adjusted, heterosexual, very happy relationship, productive member of society, gainfully employed, non-smoking, well rested loneliness.

come home!

spanky
xoxoxo

helmet days.

Dear Sticky Bee,

hey, it's so funny you mentioned head wounds. i was just shopping for a helmet.

not, like, an every-day-use helmet like you have so often prescribed for me. just for redneck vehicular use. bulldog is safety-mad at the best of times but he was seriously hyperventilating at thanksgiving as i raced around on the three wheeler, ripe on labatt's 50 and sans helmet. that's three kinds of danger. so he's insisting on a helmet for the spankee before the three wheeler takes a spin this spring.

hmmph.

i protested, surely. i called him a pansy. and a nancy. but he's held firm.

so this is what it has come to. helmet shopping.

but, holy fuck at least i'm not on the bus.

i don't know how/why you do it. clearly, my calls for you to get a car are going unheralded. this is a serious issue and i feel helpless to impact your poor decision making on my own. i feel like maybe we need to have a bus intervention with you. honestly.

hey, maybe you could get around on one of those über-gay motorized scooters.

then we could both wear helmets, together.

wanking off to thoughts of your tits during my lunch break,
spanky millionaire
xoxoxoxox

minor head wounds.

hey baby doll,

i'm on my way out the door so this will be short. stay tuned for my weekly sting-in-the-eye coming later. for now i have a bus to catch.

i don't want to be a princess here. i don't want to complain about public transit and how effing gross it is. but...i feel i have some right to do this as i've been an avid transit user for my entire life. i even took the mother-effing GREYhound from buffalo to denver. if that doesn't give me license to comment (while at the same time entitling everyone to call me a filthy dirty bus-dweller) i don't know what does.

so i get on the bus every morning and it's packed. like, to the tits. and the bus driver screams at us all like we're scuzzy, mildly retarded children to get to the back of the bus. but we can't GO any further, spanky. so we're all mushed up against one another. this is a sick thought in general - to be in such close proximity to the general public. but this is not the general public. these people are bus people.

just to give you a few characteristics many of my bus-friends seem to have in common:

1. they reek. i'm not talking body odour. i would KILL for the smell of body odour on the bus. this...this is much more sinister. unwashed hair, stale vomit, old burps, diapers and...what is that last note i detected yesterday....oh, yes...hot dogs.

2. they talk to invisible people. a lot of my bus friends have invisible friends. i'm fine with that. except for when they start beating them. a man was beating up an invisible man the other day on the bus. it caused quite a commotion.

3. they're generally bleeding a little. i swear. really. they have cuts and sores and they're bleeding. i've seen 4 separate bus people bleeding from their hands and 2 bleeding from minor head wounds.

all for the low low price of $2.25.

gotta get myself a car.

wish me luck, dear spanky. i'll hold my breath and think of you.

love you!
sticky

portrait of writers' block.

Current lead for happiness article:

"Life sucks. Then you die, broke, bitter and alone, perhaps wearing diapers."

clearly, i am not well-equipped to write about happiness.

if only they could assign me to write a piece on the cleaveland steamer. a photo essay, perchance. yes.

that is all. now back to staring at a blank page and daydreaming about donuts. and your dad.

-spanky the millionaire.