"JANUARY 2004: Your dog's wearing an ugly ill-fitting sweater you would've thrown into the East River. Your throat, virus or not, is permanently full of a hunk of phlegm. Your "hot" water takes 10 minutes to reach "less cold". Your food all tastes like shit. Your increased alcohol consumption puts a complete kibosh on the happy electro-chemistry from your anti-depressants. Your hair looks like a dried-up mop that's been sitting in a scuzzy bucket for 10 years. Despite obsessive moisturizing, your thumbs each sport small but abysmal cracks that hurt like a motherfucker. Bally Fitness has changed its hot, sweaty, thongy, squishy-titted soft porn TV campaign. And no amount of "Cool New York" events or WinterFuckingFest fun can change the fact that we're ALL on a slippery slope ending with a face plant on Valentine's Day."
Why even try to come up with some clever, when you have people like the Black Table to do it for you?
No comments:
Post a Comment