RAT SHIT!

I think we're gonna have to sell our Rolls-Royce. Dad can't drive it anymore, and I don't have the passion or the knowledge to be able to give it the care it deserves. The man who sold Dad the car in the first place misses it and is willing to buy it back. It's a shame, but I don't know what else we can do with it. And I can tell you, I certainly do NOT revel in the prospect of having to take it out driving weekly, especially on days like this.

In other news, massive, massive props to cavenessity for braving illness to deliver a hardcore performance in one of my favorite plays, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. God damn, I do miss that play. That's one of the few plays I could honestly see myself doing for months on end and not tiring of it.

After three weeks of growth, we can update my goatee's status from "is that dirt on your lip?" to fully-fledged "pubestache." I'd show you myself, but I still can't get iSight to work with iMovie. And since the apple website is a quagmire of do-it-yourself FAQ guides that cover everything I've already tried, I'll set up an appointment at the Apple store sometime. Why, in no time I'll be posting Hefner Monologues on YouTube, just you wait.

"What do you want to drink, John?" "MEEEEEEEEAAAAT!!!"

So I just got back from getting a cyst removed from my lip. This damn thing's been growing for five months now, it's finally time I got rid of it. Don't you just love it when the doctors get all excited during surgery? "Oh, wow, look at all! Oh man, that's a deep one! Look how much there was! Get more gauze!"

I have eight stitches in my lip and the anesthetic is juuuuuust wearing off. Don't worry, I have precious, precious codine on the way. Of course, I probably really shouldn't go to rehearsal tonight, but Saturday's rehearsal was canceled and we only have five left. So I'm gonna take it super-duper-uber-easy. I'm still acting like my lower lip is numb because I'm so paranoid and scared of popping a stitch, so I'm walking around looking like Bub the Zombie.

I nearly got a heart attack from reading the $850 bill. Dad agreed to pay half anyway, so there's that.

So for the next four or five days, it's liquid diet time! I just had soup, Mom's gonna whip up smoothies, and I'm gonna try to not go berserk and try to puree a cheesesteak. Because man cannot live by smoothie alone.

"Where we going?" "Iraq." "Where's that?"

Y'know, I was watching THE DAILY SHOW tonight (yes, it's pretty much my source for the news) and they were remarking upon how the Army is offering citizenship to immigrants if they join. I think that's the basic gist, yes? Mom was rather struck by this news, remarking how this seems eerily like GANGS OF NEW YORK. The Irish come off the boats and the recruiters are right there to sign 'em up. Even for those who didn't like the movie, that particular scene was one of the most powerful in the film. And now here we are, about 150 years later, doing pretty much the same thing in the same bloody situation. Boy oh boy, the more things change, eh?

But then, that's just how it seems to me. I don't know jack about shit on most things, and really, I'm also stoned out of my mind on oxycontin right now. Between the drugs and the swollen discolored stitched-up lip, working at the comic shop tomorrow should prove an interesting experience indeed.

Rehearsal tonight stank, and now the director is leaning toward rehearsal on Saturday. We need it, we only have five left. But still, whoooooo boy. Stitches, don't fail me now...