How I Spent My Summer Vacation
Many of you wrote to check on me during my extended vacation from the blogworld, and for that I’m grateful. However, I’m on too much of a squishy high over my new-friend crush on Coaster Punchman to write an intelligent, interesting post, so instead I’m going to address some of the rumors that swirled during my e-disappearance.
• I did not spend the summer traveling Europe with R.E.M. Dammit.
• I did not steal Peter Buck’s Rickenbacker.
• My looking into that house down the street is not the straw that broke the financial camel’s back. I don't think ...
• I didn’t win the lottery. Dammit.
• I am not the reason why David Duchovny checked into that sex-addict rehab clinic. But he’s going to be in town next month shooting a movie, so maybe I can work in a relapse.
• I am not among the seven people who actually paid to see The Love Guru. I may have been absent, but I still have taste.
• Obama didn’t fist-bump me hard enough to bruise my typing hands. Dammit.
• I did not sneak off to have a baby, although I was spotted walking around with a blanket covering my pudgy midsection.
• I may have stalked Dale. But just a bit.
• I didn’t track down Kid Rock to kick his ass for ruining a perfectly good Warren Zevon song. But I’m considering it.
• I did not knock Noel Gallagher on his bum.
• I didn’t see any concerts, except for Kathy Griffin. Dammit.
I will fill you in what I did during my summer vacation, so check back. Regular posting is back, baby!
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