Poo poo and pee pee jokes

Welp, we're here again people. I'm back in my I-don't-want-to-write-one-more-GD-blog-entry-as-long-as-I-live phase. I do this once every few months, so I'm sure it will pass. Truth is, I'm not feeling inspired or like my usual shallow self, so there's nothing to write about. I mean there is... but you probs don't care about the .000000000000000000012 chance that, if timed well, I could theoretically walk through a wall thanks to the Superstring Theory (which is ludicrously far-reaching as it stands, but which I will defend on the hope that an infinitesimal, ever-shifting hole in the spacetime continuum could potentially be the Theory of Everything, as it's nicknamed), or that the Humongous Fungus of Crystal Falls is partially edible, or that I'm genuinely scared for Lisa Ling's sister who is being held in a North Korean prison and whose release is looking grim. In fact, I feel prioritized, happy, lovey, loved, motivated, content, and relaxed. BORING! New York made everything a racket and I was constantly go go go go go and I liked it like that. Well no more of that pace. I'm bored as shit.

I blame this solely on Los Angeles. Ever since I moved here I haven't had one inspiring thing to write about. It's too pleasant. And sunny. And easy. And slow. Life is good out here and I don't really know what to do with it. I miss New York. Like big crybaby miss it. In the City I could write a story a day by walking to my local coffee shop, but out here...tumbleweeds. And where's the intellectual conversation? Someone throw me a bone I'm fucking DYING. Anyhow, nothing left to say about LA. The POPMAW and Ed Hardy jokes got old after two weeks.

What's a POPMAW?

Oh. Well, my friend Dana coined this term. You know how you're checking out some super skinny, tight-buns-in-spandex-and-running-shoes chick from behind and your boyfriend is thinking - if only for a moment- that he wants to eff her and you're thinking he wants to eff her too, only to realize upon profile that it's a 50 yr old woman with a yoga body? Those are POPMAWS: Paxiled Out Post-Menopausal Anorexic Women. Shit is RAMPANT in LA. Thanks lady, you make me feel as crappy as when I check out homeless dudes in flannels by accident (which inevitably paralyzes my reproductive functions for the rest of the day).

Oh, and get your self-righteous pedestrian toe out of the crosswalk and wait for the light to change. These bitches HISS at you if you don't cause a pile-up on their behalf like they're Jesus parting the waves.

I dunno, I love a sexy silver fox, but maybe tone down the brutal boob jobs and face lifts a bit? Sexy is all about being natural, tasteful and letting your wrinkles look wise and superior, like they're full of answers. But that's another story.

Point is, I am busy with my other more self-important projects and this blog is not one of them. Don't worry- I'll be back. But for now I'll just drop some photos on you instead of writing. Need a break.

If you want to find me, I'll be putting my ideas into the world so you can see them with your own two eyes someday. These things take time, but if I'm not making smart funnies I don't have a reason to live, so BRB you know?