Monday, October 19, 2009
What the hell am I doing drinking in L.A.?
Hirsute, my love won't matter
was the line I was thinking of. That was five hours of wasted time I'll never get back. After a vicodin and a call to the suicide hotline I realize of course love won't matter if it's hairy. What the hell is that and who would write such a thing? After the pills kicked in and 'Wanda' talked me out of blowing my brains out, I realized I may have actually meant 'forsooth' which makes a lot more sense. It may not mean alot to most people but that's what happens when you lay around naked with a pad of paper and a pen.