Good Fanta Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

So, I've had the flu for the past few days, and my synapses are even farther apart than usual, making it hard to think, let alone write an original thought. I'm indebted to keeping up this here blog a magog thing though (not that anyone is reading it, I snicker once again), so here's a little funny filler to keep you warm on this Godforsaken chilly winter night, namely, a scene from Bad Santa (yeah, 2 months and a couple of years to late, I know, but courtesy of my dear old gruff but lovable friend Peeper... good to see you again the other night man):

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"Gin: Look here, get him outta here and I'll go smooth things over with Chipeska, Tell him it was food poisoning or something.
Marcus: What do you mean, get him outta here?
Gin: Take him to the car.
Marcus: In case you didn't notice I'm a motherfucking dwarf, so unless you got a forklift handy, maybe you should lend a hand hmm?
Gin: That figures. You want all kind of set-asides. Special treatment 'cause your handicapped. You're all the same.
Marcus: Special treatment? I'm 3-foot-fucking-tall you asshole! It's a matter of physics. Draw me a sketch of how I get him to the car, huh?
Gin: Bitch, Bitch, Bitch!
Marcus: Sketch it up, you fucking moron. Fucking Leonardo da Vinci.
Gin: What'd you call me thigh-high?
Marcus: I called you a fucking guinea homo from the 15th-fucking-century, you dickhead!
Gin: I could stick you up my ass, small fry.
Marcus: Yeah? You sure it ain't too sore from last night?
Gin: You got some lip on you midget.
Marcus: yeah? Well these lips were on your wife's pussy last night. Why don't you dust that thing off once in a while? Asshole"

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And now I lay me down to sleep, thinking 'bout landing that pilot I auditioned for the other day (you know the one, the sweet-ass job that'll get me out of this dead-endless downward drinking n' thinking spiral), and hoping to revisit that exciting dream I had last night, where I was a Mexican outlaw on the lam from Underworld types, escaping one near death scenario by harnessing a wild boar like a sandscaped water ski, and finding myself in yet another while romancing a couple of exotic chiquitas at a rural wedding I happened upon... Make any sense? Sadly, no, 'twas a dream, but a pretty visual and visceral one at that... Oh yeah, Happy Valentine's Day to y'all. Apparently, the average American with a loved one/partner/signif other/girlfriend/boyfriend/lover/fuckbuddy/crush or whatever you macallit spends $100 on this Holiday. If that's the way it is, that's the way it iiiiiiissss. I'm not saying that solo is the payolo either, but I'll take the part over the heart on this day, this year...