My General Malaise

It’s about 95 degrees outside and when I look out my window I can see the wavy mirage-like lines steaming off the pavement. It makes me wonder how the indigenous folk ever survived. From healthy stock I guess, until we traded those blankets full of smallpox.

I’m pissed off about a multitude of things, not the least of which is the Travel Channel. For some reason the sound is fucked up in my area and it’s completely unwatchable. So much for digital cable.

There’s a goddamn wasp loose on my floor and it’s only a matter of time before he finds my office. It may be the biggest wasp I‘ve ever seen; it looks like something from a Yes album cover and I seem to be the only one concerned about it.

The Check Engine light is on again. Car manufacturers should just be honest about this shit. A light should go on that just has the dollar amount. Instead of Check Engine, the light should just say $800.

I bought a new pair of sneakers and they’re just huge. The heel on the sole must be two inches thick. It’s like they were designed for interplanetary exploration or something. What happened to fucking Keds?

There’s no Led Zeppelin or Frank Zappa on iTunes.

I haven’t returned any phone calls since Friday and the blinking red light on the phone is like Chinese water torture. Each pulse seems like it’s getting brighter and brighter, but I hate almost everyone and I can’t bear to listen to the messages. Now it’s like I’m living through The Tell-Tale Heart.

Shana Hiatt has quit the World Poker Tour on the fucked up Travel Channel and her replacement has to be worked into my masturbatory repertoire. It’s a real pain in the ass because the Shana fantasy was really starting to groove.

End of report.