The ol’ lady is away in LA this weekend, so I’ve been drinking wine and making friends with the 500 Jim Morrisons of Facebook.
After you befriend your first 75 Jim Morrisons, in under four minutes, they (Bookface) hit you with a “type these two words in the box provided” security measure.
“Runway Somalias”
“Mazrin Atlanta”
“Mamboed its”
“Radios Efforts”
That’s the first four things I’ve had to write… messages from the Lizard King? Instructions from a sub-government body, perhaps? Or am I just your average garden variety schizophrenic? I’m kidnapping Antonio Banderas and taking him to The World of Coca Cola, regardless.
That reminds me: my Doors cover band- Indian Bummer- are playing a show at the Mercury lounge next week. Hope you can make it.
“Saloma Rice”
“Spinster Always”
“Ships Gone”
Weird.
Why am I befriending all the Jim Morrisons? Because I think it’s hilarious, and I also want to illustrate my complete and utter detestation of FB. It’s such a total waste of time; time surely better spent looking in the mirror or masturbating. Why don’t I quit, then? You ask too many questions, Pancho.
Speaking of hilarious, I just came up with a funny name for folk musician: Toots Mahogany. Just came to me then. Hilarious.
It’s hot-as-balls in NYC right now. Hot all day and hot all night. It’s getting hard to move around outside; it’s getting hard to even think outside: my thoughts seem to smear and dribble into one another, and they’re mainly thoughts about how awesomely hot it is. It’s nice to see all the bums developing amazingly healthy tans, though; and having pigeons follow your shadow to keep their feet cool is kinda cute; and dogs are sticking out their tongues more than usual, so that’s been good for stamps an’ stuff.
It’s Sunday, man. This is stupid. I’m out.

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