Anger gone. Went to karate. Hit things. Feel better.
Feeling like a staggering alcoholic, I loaded up on wine at the LCBO in case they go on strike today or tomorrow. (For the record: I like the LCBO the way it is. I don't want alcohol in my variety store. More comics,maybe, but not the hooch.) Saw a busker playing Rammstein on an acoustic guitar. I gave him two dollars for his daring. "Danke schein," he smiled.
Done Freepers column. Now my three readers will have something to line their budgie cages with come Saturday. Also got a commission from Knights Of The Dinner Table for another piece, so that's good. Heard my friend James Bow has sold his fantasy novel, which is spectacular news, even if I hate him for his good fortune. My other pal, David Southwell, also has a book coming out. And here it is. Southwell, of course, is a prime fucker who thinks he can take me in a fight, drinks like a fish, and has uncountable bastard children down the coast of California. Beach blondes find him irresistable. A mystery.
Read the latest Hellboy last night, called The Island. Good, creepy fun, even if I had no idea what's going on. I've been staring at the last two issues of The New Avengers in my Pile of Guilt for the last week, and really should read them. I think my life will be far more fulfilled by doing so.
Oh--Cher has destroyed her foot courtesy of last night's karate class. Looks like soft tissue damage of some description, which means she can barely walk. Furious cannot begin to describe her state of mind. Her legs are brown and purple with bruises from sparring. She looks like some sort of battle hardened Amazon. I remember when I met her: she was barely 120 lbs and dressed like an Amish punk rocker. Now she's 140, all muscle, and has martial arts trophies littering the house. She wins them, then casually tosses them aside.
I think she would make a good pirate.
1 comments:
I could and have taken you in a fight. Seem to remember shooting you up the arse as you ran above me on a metal grill...
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