here i am at jenny’s new place of business the helen woodward animal center. there is an umbrella cockatoo here named chachee who, i believe, just asked some father if he was gay. in front of his three year old daughter no less. brilliant. marina covered it up well unknowingly since she thought the bird really did say, “are you ok?” instead of my preferred, “are you gay?”
marina? comments?
ahem. yes. well, i’ve been sitting in this loverly office for hours now as michele recoups from the lack of internet for several days. as a matter of fact, i’m trapped. in an animal center. fitting really. hopefully soon i will be able to leave and have michele show me around sd as i still haven’t gone out that much–with the exception of all those times i’ve been with bailey and his girlfriend (erica) watching all these little poli sci boys surf. entertaining, especially as the one that i live with is far more “stimulating” to look at in a wetsuit than our dear bailey.
i need to intervene now as michele is trying to teach chachee more bad words.
poooooooooooop…..come on chachee, work with me here.
scott bailey in a wetsuit. let’s all picture that please. take a moment to adjust. thank you.
jenny refuses to write anything. however she would like to thank gene for acknowledging her essential hotness. and she says “hi” to everyone else. she is too busy being squeezed by pythons to really talk to you all. and apparently refining on her inherent sex-goddess qualities.
this is michele in san diego signing off.
so did chachee finally say poooooooop?
that would be cool. heh-heh.
You should teach it to say, “Are you gay? And, of course, by gay I mean happy.” That would be cool. Heh.
bailey’s irish creme, huh, huh, huh, huh…
i actually gave up on poop and tried opting instead for “bye freak show.” jenny was trying to discipline the bird by threatening him with roasting on spigots too. hmmm a spigot is a faucet so that is not what i mean. but one of those little rotisserie things, you know? round and round the birdie goes, over the fire so hot, and where he stops nobody knows, but in my tummy is where he’ll end up.
m@: wtf?
spit, silly.
wait! not the verb! don’t – ugh.
what, suddenly, I have to make sense?
don’t you know that just because the trumpet sounds it doesn’t mean the whole world wakes up? don’t you realize that life without mikey is just plain old cereal? toast is still bread isn’t it? unveiling the truth is just another lie, invented to disguise reality, or is it?
you should be warned, i could go on for days like this… my love… my sweet, sweet michele.
someday we will be together… someday.
scared? i must say, i’m really freakin’ strange today, back in true form.
aahhh… is good to be back.
run little children, run, mwuah, ah, ah, aahh.
sadly i will probably not be enjoying myself quite so much in this distant “someday” as most likely i will be stuffed naked and skinless in a garbage bag. grrrreat. no really.
ew, skinless.
mich, your stalker is getting weirder.
all right now, michele said skinless, not i.
damn it michele, you’re stealing my stalker thunder.
that is, if there is such a thing. hmm… stalker thunder. sounds like a band name, better get ian in on this one. wait, i’m off the subject again… damn you left brain, no damn YOU right brain, no damn…
anyway, skinless, i just can’t take it that far.
yes, i believe this is it michele, i may have to resign as your stalker… i, i, … i just don’t know how much longer i can go on like this. you know i love you and i want you to know it’s not you, it’s me… really… i’m just not ready for this level of stalker lingo.
pull yourself together, stalker.