April 7th 2006 9:45 am
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… But just try to fi-ind
somebody to touch.
So here I am, in the Tiajuana jail.
Ain’t got no frie-ends
to go my bail.
OK, OK… In the song, it’s five thousand. And it refers to dollars. But the song actually has nothing whatever to do with my current subject.
My current subject is this: Some time (early?) next week, my page should hit 10,000 views. I’m vain; I admit it. I do pay attention to these things. I’m thinking perhaps I should throw myself a party (Dog knows, the biped isn’t going to).
And you’re all invited—I could never have done it (done what?) without you. Maybe I’ll sing a song. Maybe I can get the Flewsies to back me up. All beverages will be non-alcoholic (but we will not be checking brown bags at the door). Bubble pipes only. And all comestibles will be certified worm-larva-free.
Oh yes... No dog or bitch, no matter how inebriated he or she may become, will be dyed pink. You have my personal word of honor on that one.
Adidas, mis hormigas!
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