Also, and I'm afraid to actually say this—are you kidding, you know what kind of mileage the blogs would get if it ended on this note? Well, I've been in such a kickass mood lately, that I'm afraid I'm dying, and nobody has the heart to tell me. Maybe I have cancer—I can feel my liver growing, blacken, not like my jumpstart and say yea! soul—or next Wednesday or Thursday at 4:38 in the afternoon I'm going to get plowed by a drunk driver. In the heat of Hollywood, or Laurel Canyon, either in Valley Village or Pacoima. Oh, mama!
His name might be Earl, or her name Misty, and she would be crying.
What makes me feel better, is that you're all dying too. Everyday you live, you age, and joyous, you're one day closer to—that goes for you too, Earl. Lay off the punch.
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