Today was engineered for spanky satiation only. No cow tar here, I mean it, sometimes you gotta give yourself a break. A break combined with sincere presents. Not wrapped though, don't get too daisy on me. Verily! I am gifting myself with personally programmed anti advertising radio whilst penning this recount. Today was the day that my inner divorced spanky daddy took my inner eight year old spanky to the circus. Two boxes of Fiddle Faddle stylie.

Yippee!

After five solid days of functioning on med student level sleep, I crashed. Hard. Naturally juicing yourself, which has to be the most logical explanation, produces the same results of crash on illicit substances. Don't quite feel as much like a dried out bar rag, but it is a comparable crash. Night before gifting day I zonkled right the fuck under some night air sheets. Boom.

Even a "restful" foray into the mystical sleeping arts contains instances of interruption in my cranial kingdom. A slightly creepy dream, to which I have no recollection of, which historically means it warz a doozy, jarred me awake sometime in the wee. Bladder alarm woke twice at fourish and sixish. Blasted construction chorus reverberated through a closed window. Mmmmmm mid morn chilly.

Chilly wake up is my favorite. Snug under covers, warmth hug. Damn fine thing that fall is on it's way. I am a fan.

Still the morning shift. An orgy of time to gather self. Rub the spindly hair attacking from my sparsely forested scalp off my sleepy face. Listful mirror time. Investigate the wrinkle levels. Acceptable. I do dig the crow's feet. I enjoy the expressive crinkle. Daily check of the windows. Staring back fairly clear.

The hula girls on my shower curtain dance aside. Steamy streamy. Big ups for the plumbing props of the last super power. Gentle sand blasting the city funk off the skin barrier. Ascertain the maintained quality level of my hide. Gotta check for new growths. Sometimes determining exactly what's hanging off our human existences, requires some serious fondling.

During the ten minutes plus it takes to brush my teeth ( never had a cavity in my scrubby life, so you decide if ten minutes plus is adequate ) I zap on NY1. NY1 serves basically one sole purpose. Weather. I hates ads the mostest when all I want from the despicable glowbox is the temperature, and some mattress delivery stankwads jingle is busting my skull. Occasionally the news snacks they bandy about on that station are beneficial knowledge. Not all that often though. Not much that spawned from the Mad Georgian does usually.

Still in the realm of ten, I scull around for cinema show times. Another delectation of Autumn is the rise of decent movies. A multiple choice question presents itself. Clear winner was Bubba Ho-Tep. Bruce Campbell as the stranded surviving Elvis Presley fighting off demon laden creatures from ancient Egypt? Word em up.

Only playing at the Angelika. Once in the neighborhood, in times of older Lower Gotham days gone by, Angelika was a rarer indie house treat. Made increasingly more treat like when it was the closest game, to my location, in town. Now, I routinely chump that joint in favor of the much nummier screens of Sunshine. Angelika kind of blows. It will function if properly planned out. Severe trampling subway tunnel rumble breaks. Cramped pinchy bony seats. Easy for a regular sized melon to block a view. While I was super eager to see the flick, I was in zero mood for extra hinderances to a good escapism. So, when the next thing happened....

Nothing too dramatic. During the previews a group of three stumbled in. At an age that I could call them kids. Guffawing and jabbering it up. Persisted on through the previews. I will give people a pass on my rage if the endless gabber is contained during the previews only. However, I do partake of paying attention to previews, so even mild distractions get the furnace pumping regardless. Continued their discussion into the start of the film. Wasn't gonna have it. Turned around and told the boy in the middle to "Shut up." Not sure if they didn't hear me the first time over their own clamor, but they continued on. Turned around further to stare them in the face I barked, with a growling undertone, "Shut the fuck up!". "I'm sorry" and then zipped lips was the response. Shaked the encounter from me and focused on the screenplay.

Untrained children require heeling from those of us who actually paid attention during our home training. I just can't deal with assholing behavior ruining my purchased entertainment anymo'. Fork that. Unclog a full tank of rant on those twerps.

Decent movie. I try not to set unreasonable expectations of plans. Slightly hoping for a quirky shard of joy. Again, decent enough.

Buttoning the cuffs of my silk long sleeve, took note of the temper of those I chided. They appeared sensible enough not to make even a annoying remark as I passed them by. Comfortably took my exit. Double banged the old style school bar door latches open. Strolling down Mercer.

Begin the sustenance conversation. It was strongly noted that I was an oinker the day before. Broke the parameters of acceptable intake a nonce. Still, I want my ass on the skinnier side of the nonce most days. Pick up one of dem liquid meals over at Lucky's. Green Monster sounded and tasted perfect in many categories. Most pleased to shake a cylinder of the stuff down the street on the way home.

Mi casa is mi casa.

Take a moment to figure out what part of Larry the Stupor's posted letter on the front door was bewildering me. He actually requested that we contact 911 ( the yank universal emergency phone number most honored in Flavor Flav's rendition of "9 1 1 Is A Joke" ) in case of "serious emergency". Ok. First, woof, if I had to rely on this twittard for something serious, I would know how seriously screwed I was. Second, who the fuck calls the super of their apartment building before the fire department when their stove has erupted into flames? Lastly, asshole, no matter the circumstance of your absence, don't pawn off your meager duties onto the government tally. Same stupid sewage as parents who believe the government or television should raise their children.

Toss the remnants of the fluid meal into the bin. Dump the pocket contents into their proper resting places. Begin the strip. It's nakie time!

Climate is singing to my flesh. Properly positioned fan. The crib is feeling a bit of the nice. All in the nice. To hades with the day orb lovers, my season is setting up shop.

Play Sketch Pad on my HBO on demand shilz. Figured improv inspired sketch comedy readily acceptable to a mind about to get spliffed. Exquisite vintage. Lovely spark.

Decide to tangle with my jimmy. Probably will do so again after I write this. Too many factors making it virtually impossible not to satisfy the part of me that is boner. Horny is as horny does. Life is like a box of pornographies. You never know where you're gonna wank.

Removed the last sampling of molten ivory, and here we are now. Taaaa daaaaaa!