Help me take my life

less seriously. Dentist in seven and a half hours...one entire bottle of Chardonnay and is there a script to write?
Yes. Let me explain something to anyone who has some idea about riding out into the sunset and living like an artist for a while: It's fucking hard.

Hoping for the best is like asking your older brother to play Midge. Barbie's friend, Midge? the slutty one? Ask your brother to play Midge on the night she and Barbie are supposed to go to the prom. Midge ends up naked in the microwave.

I drive to Tijuana in the morning (if my phone wakes me up) where I will allow myself to be drugged and drilled and...this isn't making any sense. Why would I do this?

I have a cavity and no health insurnce.

Whose fault is that?

Bush, I blame Bush.

That's easy. Look, look...look at me! I'm yawning. That's how boring and unoriginal it is to me that you are blaming Bush.

He can't help it.

A fat kid with brown pants and a face full of potato salad.
An ugly homosexual resorts to the park.
A retard in a closet banging his head against a wall.
An inmate with his hands behind his back getting a Medical Shave from a prison guard.
Your father finishing an entire bag of baked Lays then farting for three hours on the couch and falling asleep.
Your mother alone in her bedroom
Abraham Lincoln with a black woman
College educated storyteller surrounded by children.

Is anyone ready for rapid fire questions? I can barely type without spilling my wine.