REBORN AGAIN

And so, once again, a cosmic do-si-so back into the arena. One dark night, whiskey, a warm girl, a stiff elbow to the ribs, a wisp of perfumed smoke, and the overwhelming desire to run my goddamn mouth off (due in no small part to my deep admiration for this rambling motherfuck) take me back here to the land of tasteless profanity, sentence fragments, absurd misuse of The Semicolon, and the orgasmic nirvana of seeing the contents of my brain shot across the expanse of cyberspace in rich, milky comets of literary subgenius. Oh yea, I do it for you (no greater than 2 readers per day, no doubt, but one does not blog for glory, only money, and this ride's free, blogger.com! [6 commas!]).

The general etiquette for an event such as this is a recap of recent developments to which your audience has not been privy:

Q: What have you been up to since our last chat?
A: Fuck you, that's what.
(cough. awkward silence.)
Q: Any major achievements since your last visit?
A: Fuck me. No. Not in the least.

Just like you, I've opted to arrange my life in such a way so as to be allowed as much fuckaround time as possible (equal emphasis on getting laid and/or/because of/in spite of alcoholism in the American standard but not the French [i.e. I am not currently intoxicated]). Hence the fresh-as-a-daisy attitude towards this so-called forum. Also, I miss laughing at my own jokes, swimming in the deep ocean of my sadness, and savoring the spats-and-top hat sophistication with which I so neatly turn a phrase. Gary Cooper is now sucking it in his grave. That's right. Suck it, Gary Cooper.

Plus I've accumulated a cadre of new villains to persecute: 1) Jasper Johns, 2) Mark Moreford, 3) Anderson Cooper, and 4) me (read the disgusting, self-indulgent archives of this blog. Alternate Sambuca and insulin shots. Shower. Repeat). Their/our offenses will be duly noted and exercised (but not excised; I flatly refuse to self-censor).

Please stay tuned for future (useless and confusing) instructions...