This is the thrilling conversation you've been waiting for.

Going to Mexico was never high on my list of things to do before I die (heat? poverty? fat, disgusting Canadians lugging their Tim Horton's travel mugs to the cabana bar for maragritas? Sign me up!), but the recent flurry of attacks on tourists has made sunny Meh-hee-co sound about as appealling as a weekender in Baghdad. Then again, given what I know about the kind of people who choose Mexico over other infinitely more interesting travel destinations, maybe this is Darwinism in action.

Otherwise...fuck, I'm, at a loss for shit to write about of late. Pop culture? "Man that new Spideyman movie looks like a piece of garbage, eh? How about that Lohan? What a coked-up tramp!" Music? "Wow Coachella looked wicked. Man, I would have killed to see Rage Against The Machine continue to pad their bank accounts by peddling their bullshit pseudo-Marxist ideology to sunburned frat dudes. Yeah! 'Fuck you I won't do what you tell me...dad!'" Politics? "Man that clown George Dubya did it again. What a clown."

Could be worse, I suppose. Having nothing to say is far, far better than writing about, say, your feelings, your trivial little hobbies, or your medical problems. I'll take being beaten into a state of near-catatonia by the relentlessly deadening banality of my joyless, insipid life, thank you very much. Beats being beaten by Mexicans.