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I'm playing Monopoly. I'm getting gouged I tell you!
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The attentive reader already knows this, but I’m going to be on Fox & Friends tomorrow morning at 9:45am ET doing the news rewind segment. I’m filling in for fellow Red Eye person and pig doodler Bill Schulz. I don’t know where he is but I know that he and I bonded over the awesomeness that was Michael Ian Black on Red Eye. Did you see him? Wasn’t he funny? I thought so. Anyway, yeah. I bet Bill is shark hunting or shark diving or shark riding. That would be a Schulzian thing to do.

Did you hear about my new thing? It’s that it takes me for-fucking-ever to write and some of what I write turns out to be crap! Unless you are one of my editors/bosses in which case I am lightning quick and only ever brilliant.

Seriously though, I feel like I’ve been wearing this constipated writer look on my face for days now and it’s interfering with my otherwise beautiful visage and sadly frizzled hair (yes, I know it’s not a word but I think it should be. the FRIZZLING being from the body wash as shampoo fiasco of two posts ago). What was I saying? I don’t know but I wish the writing just poured out of me in sheets of awesomeness but instead it seems to come out a tiny drip at a time. I need a brain colonic. I also need to stop with all the disgusting metaphors. Sorry readers. I’m tired and gross.

Today I accidentally washed my hair with body wash. The kind for your body. I don’t know how it happened. I mean, I do, but it’s a long story which I don’t care to share so I’d appreciate if you would stop trying to get it out of me. I mean, I noticed that it wasn’t really lathering in the regular shampooey way, but I just let it go. Actually, that’s not true either, I decided not to fight the lack of suds and so I just poured more into my palm. So what I’m trying to say is that today I washed my hair with a shitload of body wash. Then upon realizing it I decided to wash it with shampoo and I wasn’t sure whether that would restore some precious pH level and amino something or other and pump up the volume or whether it would further damage and strip my once lovely locks. Then I conditioned, careful not to be pouring hand lotion into my hair because I’ve lost confidence in my ability to shower effectively.

Then I ate a bar of soap, because why not.

Camel chin

Three things surprise me about this story.

1. The fondlee was female.
2. Marijuana? I would have expected something harder.
3. I could have sworn there was a third thing. I find the depth of the cleft in his chin quite noticeable, but I’m not going to go so far as to say surprising. Also, his hair color. Also, the crazy look in his eyes. But none of those were what I was going to say.
4. this is in no way related to the interview I just did
5. with a famous pop star’s brother
6. at the Maritime Hotel and the last time I was there there were mice scurrying around and I didn’t say word one about it today, which I think is mature, don’t you?
7. it’s hot here
8. I have a headache and a lot of work to do
9. I enjoyed Mr. Dick in Dude, Where’s My Car. Truly.
10. But then, I also enjoyed Hal Sparks in that movie and he turned out to be a douche nonpareil (we did Red Eye together)
11. that’s a douche covered with little chocolate candies covered in small white balls
12. then rolled in capers
13. But I did like Queer as Folk.

Greetings my little acorn squashes. Sorry I haven’t been blogging with the frequency and fervor you deserve. I’ve had my nose to the grindstone.

Today I’m interviewing the brother of a very famous celebrity and no it’s not Phil McKeon— brother of Facts of Life‘s Nancy McKeon–who was on Alice and was a star in his own right. Good guess though!

I am in a cab and the cab driver is burping something fierce. Like a continual string of low growly ones. Seriously, sir, what are we dealing with? Is this GERD? Did you drink a small lagoon of pepsi? Is there a tiger in here? Okay, now you are hacking something up and kind of sniffling. Is this consumption? It strikes as consumptive. Okay, the burps have changed pitch. More hollow sounding. I may throw up, you know, just cuz!
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The hotel my parents are staying at is crawling with cops. They're stationed around the perimeter and on the corners a few blocks in each direction. I realize I'm popular with the men in blue, but this is a little much, even for me.

Well I just found out they're here because Obama and Clinton are also here! As a member of the press I feel it's my duty to watch tv while telling you about this. My parents are currently walking Tobey with hopes of getting a glimpse of something or other. I suspect they will be getting a glimpse of… more cops.
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Why oh why is there no service where you can call up your DVR box and tell it what to record? Because I’m at the hotel where my parents are staying (Tobey is curled up near the TV) and they don’t get the Food Network here and Next Food Network Star is on tonight and I CANNOT MISS IT! And yet, I must. My sister is sitting near me using her boyfriend’s computer (we’re IMing eachother) and it smells like an old photo album. Okay, we’re not actually IMing eachother. We’re both doing work, except right now I’m lamenting the TV show which does not technically fall under the umbrella of “doing work.” But back to the fragrant computer. First of all, she claims it’s not the computer which smells like old photo albums but she is wrong wrong wrong because once she opened that thing I got a strong whiff of the seventies which is what I associate that smell with, since inside the particular stinky albums I’m thinking of are photos from the seventies.

Now about the TV show which it seems I’m going to be missing. Is anyone else watching this show? I’m in love with it. It often makes me cry, which is kind of embarrassing. I mean not an embarrassing kind of blubbering pee from my eyes type of weeping, more just a moistening at the corners. I think maybe once my nose ran. It’s just that these peoples sad dreams are laid bare and for the most part they’re all likable and trying hard and there aren’t any villains. Crap, now I must go help my sister with an issue pertaining to her old photo album. Just know that whatever I was about to say was going to be brilliant.

You know when you’re trying really hard to remember something and you know it’s in there somewhere but you just can’t retrieve it? You do? Well I don’t, because I have a perfect memory and excellent skin.

Except apparently I went to high school with Joe Francis! I mean, I remember lifting my shirt up all the time, but I don’t remember any cameras. I just remember the principal seeming displeased.

But I saw a high school friend today and we were reminiscing about Spanish class and right there, plopped into the middle of the trip down memory lane was a story about Joe Francis being kinda douchy (okay fine—way more than kinda, I’m just being diplomatic) and getting picked on by the other kids who, admittedly, were nasty little shits, except he kind of brought it on himself so much that you didn’t even feel a tad sorry for him. Not a tad!

What’s more, apparently he looked just like he does now and went by the same name, which rules out the idea that the reason I can’t remember this is because he was a 250 pound kid who had thick glasses and went by JoJo Francesco or something.

Clearly I’ve been roofied.