Yesterday was not a good day. My cat, Pasta, was put to sleep. Keep in mind that I named him during a spaghetti dinner at the age of 11. After hanging on for roughly 19 years, he succumbed to the inevitable deterioration that awaits those of us who aren't lucky enough to have a massive coronary while having sex with an entire squad of cheerleaders. He was, however, lucky enough to live out his later years as most elderly Americans do: in Miami. Last night was also our first game in the Urban Professionals Basketball League. (No, I am not making this up.) Our team, The Magic Johnson's, got creamed. (Yes, of course I realize the possessive is superfluous, but naming the team had nothing to do with me.) The final score was something like 54-38, but that barely captures the depth of our (my) futility. Now I'm not gonna lie to you; bereavement was not a factor in the suckitude. I didn't get the news about the kitty until I got home. I believe I played basketball poorly because I am a) white, b) uncoordinated, and c) a heavy drinker and occasional drug user who exercises... um, infrequently. I don't think getting trashed and dancing at clubs counts as "working out."
Needless to say, I am taking all the wrong lessons out of yesterday and will be having many drinks tonight.
Proving that life moves on, many surprises awaited us in the news this morning. The biggest shocker is the final word that narcotics played a role in the death of Rick James. Although an "enlarged heart" was the official cause of death, no less than nine drugs were found in his system, including cocaine, methamphetamine, valium, xanax, and vicodin. The man went out straight River Phoenix steez! I was unaware that James once referred to himself as an "icon of drug use and eroticism," but now that I know... well, let's just say that I'll be using that phrase regularly for the rest of my life.
More surprises: Apparently, Edward Furlong is drunk, surly, and committed to the crustaceans' rights movement. Okay, the last one is somewhat surprising. The new format of the Miss America Pageant, which, according to Reuters, basically boils down to "more skin, less talent," is also a real shocker. And speaking of anorexia, the Olsen Twins will be the newest spokesmutants for McDonald's Happy Meals in France. Um... what? That really is a surprise, as Happy Meals tend to contain food. Even more bizarre are the prizes that you can get with your Happy Meal: a denim purse, a pencil box, or a photo album. Americans usually get cheap, cross-promotional toys, but this is France. Frankly, it's surprising the little froggies aren't chosing between a half-bottle of Montrachet, a pack of Gauloises (lights, for their tender little lungs), or a gift certificate for a first sexual experience with a kindly Belgian whore.
***UPDATE!! In case all this death is a portent, I've set my affairs in order at MyDeath.com. On the other hand... my boss's water just broke!!! It's all ups and downs, people.
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