2004-12-01 - 12:02 a.m.
I wanna do Bam Margera.
Cinema is not the simpleton's artform.
It's amazing the little liberties we deny those around us simply because we're annoyed.
I think about it sometimes, and I foam a little at the mouth.
Y'know my mom's been birthin' and raisin' for a quarter of a century now.
Think about that.
A QUARTER OF A CENTURY.
Sometimes the only thing that makes her as hip-ass and hippied-out as she was when Ben and I were babies is a glass of wine. It's not necesarily her fault either.
Thanksgiving in Buffalo Center was, uh, par for the course, really. I got drunk at a townie bar, ate the shit out of some fried stuff, and had a Buttplug McGee(aka Fingersinmyass Johnson)-siting in the new and improved local grocery (they sell beer now--as Courtney would breathe, her eyes wide, her hair flowing, "SCANDALOUS.") Apparently Buttplug has lost a few pounds. That's what happens when you loosen your belt and leave the 10-gallon jar of herpes at home.
We really do love you, baby sister, and you're not alone.
