Thanks a lot to all of you who dropped me a line about the jail thing. Okay, the one of you, but who’s counting? I was only in the cell for the night then they let us all go, no charges filed. In the morning, when we were all sober, the lady’s dude said it wasn’t the first time his lady had gotten a little over-friendly with some other fella and that until he saw my paws on her ass he assumed I was a friend of Dorothy. I wasn’t offended or nothing, I got nothing against the ‘mos. Then the other dude – the one who had the piggy wife – he piped up with, “He ain’t gay, no self respecting homo’d be seen dead in that fuckin’ shirt!” which I let slide because I am secure in the knowledge that my style is AWESOME and the fact that I could change my shirt any time but he was stuck with that face. I refrained from telling him this, however, since it could never end well.

So yeah. Anti-climax, huh?

I haven’t boned a lady in almost a week and I’m okay with that. I’m having some ‘me’ time.

In other news, Pedro has a new lady, name of Imelda. What kind of fucked up name is that? Anyway, he’s started wearing cologne which is a bad sign. To be fair, Imelda is sort of hot if you squint a bit. If you’ve just consumed a quart of vodka, that would help too. She’s a touch on the skinny side for me, but hey, each to their own. She does have unfeasibly huge ta tas for a skinny chick. She must have a deal with the God of gravity because she can walk upright and everything.

Okay, time to get back to work. I have to have a set of Brat Pack numbers ready to go for Thursday or risk death by dismemberment by a roomful of grouchy seniors.

Don’t you wish you were me?