Hello Muffin Butterers. How are you? I am fine.
I have some thoughts for you:
- When a man asks if he's ever shown up on your blog, don't humor him with a gratuitous mention.
- But, if your date insists on kissing you on the street corner when you know your meter is running down, he pays the ticket. No questions asked.
- HEY. Did you fucking hear me? I said DO NOT humor him.
- Theoretically unrelated: The Doctor Strangelove-y glasses once were lost, but now are found.
- And also, NEVER buy a dude lunch.
- By the way, a blog tip: If the paid ad network you are using begins suggesting articles to your readers entitled "SWINGING: It happens." You are doing it right. Unfortunately, you are doing it right for a blogger in 1973.
- Good news on that, though: You are extremely fashionably late to the orgy! #LA!
- Gentlemen, you cannot have your cake and eat it, too. Only, by cake I mean "pussy." And by eat, I wish I actually meant eat because making sexual euphemisms about cake seems to be working well for Rihanna. THINK ABOUT IT.
- On that note, there *IS* one circumstance under which a woman ABSOLUTELY DESERVES to be hit. And that occasion is by her best friend, right in the face, the moment she shows up to a party with Chris Brown.
- To be clear, I'm going to paraphrase Dave Chappelle and/or Rick James: What did the five-fingers say to the face? [STOP FUCKING DATING CHRIS BROWN].
- Ah! See? The Grammy's are fun and shit!
But if you want to watch people in bands sit around and circle jerk each other, here's a tip: Just go to the Coffee Bean in Los Feliz. You don't even have to wear black tie.
- But that reminds me: Get dressed. We're going out.