“I hope if dogs take over the world, and they choose a king, they don't just go by size, because I bet there are some Chihuahuas with some good ideas...” - Jack Handy
It looks like I will be attempting to write up the Art of Speed show, in short order, and submitting it somewhere. There is photographic evidence, out there, of my inebriated note-taking in some hip young bar in downtown Middletown, so the jig is up. I haven't yet looked at those notes... I'm too afraid. I remember scratching something out in the bleak darkness on the ride home, from the back seat of my own car - it was that kind of night. It takes some considerable skill to write when you can't see...
I feel the need to reiterate the genius that is Charlie Sheen. I'm convinced that he failed in trying to connive some unscrupulous pay upgrade, and in retaliation is torpedoing the show with excessive strange behavior and megalomaniacal social media mindbending. Kudos to him, it's a hell of a ride.
Lastly, from left field: the cat's asshole exploded on Sunday night. This is no metaphor - ruptured anal gland, vet, antibiotics, recovery... It's a bit like Weird Christmas, she runs around exited, surprised, constantly stopping to look behind her. Good News: contrary to the assumed facts, this twenty pound isn't to fat to clean herself.
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