Wherein I Return To My Blog And Answer Questions (Here You Go, Peppermint…)

This is what you get when you Google return. How hot were the clothes back then? That chick with the butterfly collar is choice.

Hi. Wow, I think I started receiving death threats. How hot is THAT? So I got a new gig and it involves me social media-ing, and blogging a lot and obviously I left this place abandoned like when a kidnapper has a basement girl and he gets killed and what a horrifying metaphor this is going to be so I’ll stop. Oh, and I decided to start off by answering all the questions left on my last entry (including the gross watch in the toilet one from Bill Cosby and fuck him for asking that cuz’ it’s known I think poop is gross). I would throw up the Unqualified picture but I can’t find the damn thing and I’m too lazy to go back and Save As that mess. I am seriously run down in the life, huh?

QUESTION: How do I react to my best friend who’s been laid off for a year and apparently “job hunting” (read: perusing the classifieds on her leisurely schedule) who’s currently living with a crackhead (read: he does crack occasionally) and is in denial that he doesn’t need rehab but only weekly meetings and suddenly wants to open up a holistic spa/philosophical care center because she wants to spread her message of self peace and healing.

ANSWER: Laugh? Tell her to call you when the shuttle lands? Her message of self peace and healing is going to go right down the shitter when HiHo steals her damn TV to sell for that awful stuff you smoke out of a broken lightbulb. You can not have a meaningful dialogue with someone about acupuncture or reiki when they’re out sucking off the homeless for rock-sharing purposes? How the hell does one smoke crack “occasionally?” I still don’t get how Angelina Jolie had a heroin habit and ended up being as successful and gorgeous as she is? She’s the devil, obviously. I drank a beer once and now I’m a hopeless alcoholic. He’s going to end up shooting her for the refrigerator (ice makers are so rad, especially when they also shoot water).

Anyway, that part of her relationship is obviously going to go up in flames like his pipe. As for the not finding a job, and opening her own hippy-dippy spa thingy. Well, let her. Unless she owes you some money, that’s her deal. Whatever makes her happy, right? Unless Granola Momma owes you money, don’t sweat it. Just get ready for when you want to get dinner and drinks, she suggests McRibs. Oh, and don’t let her recreational crack-smoker dude anywhere near your bag, if you know what I’m saying.

Tags: J. Harvey