Not only does John Edwards get elected to The Piece of Shit Hall of Fame in his first year of eligibility, he gets his own fucking statue! His wife had/has cancer, he's a star Senator with aspirations of the Presidency, and an inspiration to Americans of many colors, and creeds, and he goes and sticks his dick into some broad.

And I say "broad" with the utmost respect. He could've (I would've!!) boned any number of prime-cut college girls, but he fucked some chick who was in her thirties. It's very "Ol' Dirty Bastard" in it's sheer audacity and genius.

I don't think the kid is his. If history has taught us anything, it's that Southern Democrats usually spray on clothing, not "in the chamber."

My favorite thing about it, easily, EASILY, is that he tries to justify it because he "didn't love her."

Brass balls ladies and gentlemen. I bet he polishes them to a high sheen. Depending on how adventurous and torrid they were, I bet she could even see herself in them!



Again, he could've traded up, way up, in fact, but he played the hand he was dealt like the man he is.

It's not like he's responsible for lies that sent thousands of young Americans to an early death or disability. It's just a little affair! His wife won't be alive forever. Good politicians need to have plans for the future, and they need to execute those plans.

Good on you, John Edwards!


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Dancing was awesome yesterday.

It was a relatively new room for me.

I tend to stay far away from this establishment, as it reeeeeksss of hipsters, whom I tend to hate/despise/abhor/loathe/pity more than any other young-adult demographic.

I hate this room so much in fact, that if I were to wish a club fire/stampede on any place in the whole wide fucking world, it would be upon Belvedere's.

Wait! On second thought, maybe not, as the influx of news stories about the tragic loss of "pretty, indie rock grad student," "free-spirited artist," and "just getting started in life/new to the big city former high school football player," would be certain to induce thoughts of suicide.

I think about suicide often. It's why I don't own a gun.

Yesterday, walking across the 41st Bridge on the way to the club, I didn't think about jumping, even once, until my return trip. I think a good way to go would be jumping off a bridge onto a coal barge, as your body could go undiscovered for a while, and you might create a nifty little mystery for the cops. That's be nice, final, "blow me" to the government. Less messy than a suicide bomb too.

Anyways, I was able to parlay my lack of happiness into a wave of pure dance energy, catapulting myself into a few stress and thought-free hours of total fun.

Seriously. I sweated so much I was able to wring water out of the money in my pocket. STOKED!

It was pretty sweet, even if the sound and bass went in and out like the tide. The music could've been a little better, but dancers can't be choosers. That's why the DJ is the DJ. Trust in them. Unless you're at an ultra-lounge or other higher-end nightclub, in which case, I won't be there, so do whatever you want.

Overtime tomorrow. Came home sick today, but will focus my chi and go in tomorrow. Money is good.

I added a vid that was miss-posted to yesterday's post. Watch it, or Jesus won't come back!

What? No vid posted for today??? Aw fuck it, here we go!

This one's for John Edwards!



If you don't own Radiohead's newest album, you're not cool.

"Feed My Frankenstein" is, unequivocally, the best work Alice Cooper's ever done.-BK