21 August 2006

the first rule about fight club...


see the fornicating bunnies? i have that watch.

so. roberto and i will be nyc-bound in less than four weeks. i need to sell a kidney in order to fund this trip. does anyone know of anyone looking for a kidney? i'd let it go cheap... anywho. roberto wants to go to flight club. i thought he said fight club, and i was all, the first rule about fight club is don't tell loren about fight club, but he called me a retard and promptly corrected me. flight club is some sort of shoe orgy thing they gots going on over by nyu. roberto is beside himself just thinking about it. me? i've got to get to the swatch store in times square. plus, i was afraid that my hiking in the hills of heidi trip might be x-nayed due to lack of companionship but i think i've got ua christy talked into going with me. we're going to eat cheese and ski in october. that about covers it, no other plans. i'll buy watches of course, but i don't think she shares this obsession. why switzerland? well, with all the crazy shit going on in the world, i think it's good to go somewhere neutral. neutral = safe. plus, they speaka some-a english, which is good, because the only foreign language i speaka is drunken spanish and i don't think that will bode well over there. i know just enough to get by: aeropuerto, hamberguesa, bano, cervesa. airport, hamberger, bathroom, beer. i'll never die in mexico. and i'll get to work. but the other reason for going to switzerland is obviously swatch watches. i want to come home with like 17 new swatch watches. oooh, that makes me hot just thinking about it. not that i wear the 100 i have now. i only wear like two. but that's not the point. one day they will be worth millions and i will retire on my swatch watch fortune. or, i'll be 90 years old and my arms and legs will be covered in swatch watches, trying to keep warm, since i don't have any money for food or clothing because i spent it all on stupid fucking plastic watches with fornicating bunnies on the wristbands. oh well. 90 years old, living on the street, freezing to death and covered in swatch, i'll still be too cool for school.... so. yankees. flight club. (not fight club, but if we could find one, i'm game for spectatorship, which is all mr. willett, my junior high gym teacher said i was good for anyway. i actually got the award for best spectator at the yearly award ceremony. in fact, i was such a shitty gym class student, i got that fucking award two years in a row. he said he'd never seen anyone put forth the creativity in finding excuses to skip gym class and that if i'd only applied that energy to passing the presidential fitness exam or what the fuck ever it was called, i'd have been a stellar student. fucking dick. but i digress...) and swatch. umm, what else? me no se. to be continued...

oh. by the way. if anyone knows how to make my car quit speaking all crazy-like. let me know. it's sort of pissing me off and i can't make it stop.

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