So the week that began with my harrowing adventure aboard the Death Train is now at a close. I forgot to tell you about the next day, because man, that was worse. I took the day off work to sort out my bank account's depletion by my rascally rental agency. As I explained in the last episode, I had mistakenly sent two checks for the same month's rent, informed them and the bastards cashed both checks, temporarily destroying my bank account. I managed to get a refund check but only after lowering myself to engage in an actual business transaction with that vile creature known as the Lincoln Park Trixie, which made its utter disdain for dealing with the problems of a lowly commoner like myself quite clear. I plan to take revenge by poisoning Lincoln Park's alcohol supply with laxatives or something. That's what Delta House would do.
The new president of Iran is a very, very good villain. I'm not saying he's in Khomeni territory, nobody will ever have a beard that terrifying, but he's cool. For that reason, I'm very happy that idiotic Bush administration saber rattling helped put him in office. We need kickass villains. If only we could pronounce his name.
Last night, my friend Marc informed me that George Takei is gay, recently confirmed by CNN. I believe this will do great things for the gay community. Supposedly other celebrities coming out has made being gay "cool". But literally no one in the world is cooler than Star Trek's Mister Sulu. I can only imagine how many men's hearts he's plotted his course into.
Marc also sent me a link to a Daily Show slash fiction website. My brain is still trying to get clean.
I was greatly disappointed when I didn't get the chance to riot following the Sox World Series victory the other night. One of the most brilliant nights of my life was June, 1997, after the Bulls had won their fifth NBA championship, immediately taking to the streets with three friends and reveling in the anarchic joy of what we saw, affirming the supremacy of our savior Jor-Dan and wrathfully proclaiming that the false god Malone had been cast down.
With the Sox on the other hand, I had been too busy to notice they had won until about half an hour after the fact, you always have to seize these things early. Plus my current neighborhood is not the best rioting neighborhood. But there were a lot of horns being honked. I did my best impression of Kenneth Branagh's enunciation and said "Yes, my chariots/sound your trumpets!" Then went back inside.
I have a terrifying Halloween costume. I wish you could see it. It would freeze your blood.