Oh, dang. I forgot weigh down this old world with my pointless shit!
Me. Feh! That's what I say to me. Not blogging. Watching "Flight of the Conchords" and "Mad Men". Listening to I-Tunes at work and staring at things.
That's me. If I were a camel, my hump wouldn't be filled with zesty content, no. It'd be filled with fetid air, and I don't mean the fetid air that naturally gathers around camels. It's the sort of fetid air that gathers around dead blogs, only in this case, it had been pumped into the hump some poor bactrian motherfuckin' bastard, probably through a shunt. (Humanely? We need to hope so.)
Speaking of camels, I went to Santa Monica for the day last week. I've been sick this week, miserable really. Like a single camel lost in Santa Monica. Paula has told me that it's "nice that you're home during the day" (and when she said this, she was fucking KNITTING. My wife is a high powered web designer. But she was KNITTING when she said this. And I was on the LAY-Z-BOY. I felt like I should have been drinking a Tom Collins, wearing a smoking cap, and reading the Saturday Evening Post or the American Mercury. And being racist or something) only for me, it's sort of hell ride. Taking unlabelled pills found in the linen closet does that to feller.
This is how my wife likes me: mute, sweating, slightly cross-eyed, wrapped in a quilt on the couch. I can be that for you, baby, effortlessly!
So, what's be going on with you?
That's me. If I were a camel, my hump wouldn't be filled with zesty content, no. It'd be filled with fetid air, and I don't mean the fetid air that naturally gathers around camels. It's the sort of fetid air that gathers around dead blogs, only in this case, it had been pumped into the hump some poor bactrian motherfuckin' bastard, probably through a shunt. (Humanely? We need to hope so.)
Speaking of camels, I went to Santa Monica for the day last week. I've been sick this week, miserable really. Like a single camel lost in Santa Monica. Paula has told me that it's "nice that you're home during the day" (and when she said this, she was fucking KNITTING. My wife is a high powered web designer. But she was KNITTING when she said this. And I was on the LAY-Z-BOY. I felt like I should have been drinking a Tom Collins, wearing a smoking cap, and reading the Saturday Evening Post or the American Mercury. And being racist or something) only for me, it's sort of hell ride. Taking unlabelled pills found in the linen closet does that to feller.
This is how my wife likes me: mute, sweating, slightly cross-eyed, wrapped in a quilt on the couch. I can be that for you, baby, effortlessly!
So, what's be going on with you?
Labels: Greg's Life As Nincompoop
posted by Greg Mills at 8:42 PM
3 Comments:
First off, your wife is awesome.
Secondly, glad you are liking Flight of the Conchords too. I started watching it this past week and I'm utterly besotted with that show.
Thirdly, hope you are feeling better. :)
I have a friend who loves that show but it has not grown on me yet, but I only gave it a few minutes, so I may try again.
I have been busy, really busy. You name it, I have been doing it.
I hope you feel better but I am glad the knitting computer genius Paula got her ray of sunshine from the quilted Greg.
I'm all a-twitter waiting for the Flight of the Conchords record to be coming out on the Sub Pop label someday (hopefully) soon.
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