baal

. . . and i sink to a new low. my fly is left open all evening as i drink martinis in the company of snobs in the creepiest recording studio in phoenix.

and also, said creepy studio is the horrible pit of despair where turdly rock demons 'the gin blossoms' labor over such aurally destructive hits(?) as 'hey jealosy'.

i have now become sad

dreams about bukkake and electrical storms are never good

the desert is melting my face off more and more everyday, i carry it around in a bucket now