101 Dastmalchian’s.

Polka dots, polka dots every where on this rainy drizzly Friday in March. And not a single dog in sight. Puddles of cats up to your ankles. This coat itches and the collar has hairs embedded in it. My vest made from donkey chest is a tad ill fitting through the middle, must be a little saddle worn. I should put another feather in my cap as I stir the macaroni pot with my shoes. Do you hold your drinks with your fingers in the liquid? I held my wine glass by the stem as though writing with a pencil. 101 ways to wash cars in your Jeans. Acid wash Vs. Pre ruined garbage bags for sale only seventy dollars a pop. But for you, my friend, I’ll do seventy five.

I would classify my interior design aesthetic as plastic caught in trees, and other helpful euphemisms. Like an oil slick on your morning coffee that shouts “Don’t stray too far from a toilet.” A juxtaposition of jumbled malaphors, and too much grey on grey on grey, with cappuccino browns and textured caramel ceilings, with black toilets, sinks and tubs, using gold filigree inlays. A real what’s what of whatever you can throw in the sink to stick. Popped nails and prematurely cracked dry wall speckled with toothpaste. Minty fresh! Damn near useful.

Morning comes too early, and the night disappears too quickly. Thank Fuck It’s Gone or (TGIF) to my friends out there in radio land. I have a voice for print, and the face of radio. But I have a mean limp when I walk this way. Bawk bawk ba-gawk!