What's up players?? Boy, it sure has been a while since I threw a knowledge bone your way but your old pal Boosh's been caught in an avalanche of shit. I finally found my way out and crawled my ass back into society, only I think I might've left a nice sized portion of my brain back there on the mountain.
If you have read the posts before this you'll know I'm back in the single world. Normally, this should be where I'm telling you about how I had to get a revolving door installed to accommodate the amount of sweet ass that's been coming in and out of my place, but I seem to have lost my "touch". Not that I ever had "it", but whatever I did have seems to be up in an attic somewhere, ready for the dust to be blown off it. Because until that happens, dust's the only thing that's getting blown off in this place.
In case you don't understand what I'm talking about, here's a little example. I was out a while back, having a drink with some friends when a semi-attractive girl came up to me and started talking to me. She started talking about what she does which, as it turns out, was a hairstylist. She told me that I should come over sometime and she would make my hair "look good." Instead of taking this sweet gift from the poon god upstairs, I took this as an opportunity to defend my hair by insulting her, then telling her I don't need her damn help with my hair, this is how I like it. After I walked away from her I realized what the hell I had just done. Looks like ol Boosh had turned to self sabotage.
Anyways, I got to thinking about that and realized that if I don't get my shit together I'm going to turn into Bill Murray in Rushmore, when he's smoking two cigarettes at once, drinking a shooter out of a coke can.
I remember, a few years back, when I nearly died. I had gotten drunk with a friend and decided we should drive out to a mansion in Palm Springs someone was staying at. After arriving, forgetting to put on the parking brake, and chasing down my car, I proceeded to pass out in the backyard. I awoke an uncertain time later to find i had a spider bite on my leg the size of a grapefruit. I did what seemed like the only thing a dying man could do: make a sandwich. Now, this wasn't any ordinary sandwich. It was a death row, last meal type of situation. I pulled out all the stops. After finding every type of meat, cheese and condiment in the house, the sandwich stood almost a foot tall. And I'll be damned if after I finished the whole thing the spider bite went away, and I lived to see another day.
I guess the point of this whole thing is that it's about time to grab this life by the sandwich and take a big ol bite. Who cares if there's cream cheese on it, I gotta wolf that thing down my gullet and get out there. This might partly be because my internets down, and loading porn while they're other people around isn't doing too much good for the ol self esteem. That and I think I'm getting carpel tunnel in my wrist from sitting around in this god foresaken jack shack doing fuck all, all day. We'll see what happens. Looks like ol Boosh hasn't had his last sandwich yet.
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