The kindness of strangers

I’m so fucking drunk right now I can’t even tell you. Jesus. Endless glasses of top-shelf bourbon have knocked me right on my ass. That’s what I get for borrowing xTx’s pants before a night out.

Tonight should have been completely fucked. I pissed a particular girl off to no end. She basically told me to fuck off and leave her alone. I crossed the line and she wasn’t having any of it.

I found myself at a bar in L.A. Well, Culver City if we’re being technical. I sat down and ordered a beer. A kind of cute babe with really curly hair started talking to me. If she wasn’t with a guy she referred to as her boyfriend, I would’ve sworn she was hitting on me. I think her boyfriend would wholeheartedly agree with that estimation.

Her and I talked about work and Michael Jackson and cocaine. She was most interesting. If she wasn’t with a man I would have absolutely tried to hook up with her.

When I finally let it be known that I was having issues with a woman, she was all ears. She listened intently to my tale of woe, and how I completely fucked things up with a girl tonight.

She asked me if I’d like her help. I said of course. She said give me your phone. I gave her my phone. She typed the most basic, straightforward message to the girl and pressed send.

Trust me she said. Not three minutes later, my phone buzzed in response. The girl would come meet me at the bar.

I looked at my new friend with a newfound respect. Now I REALLY wanted to make out with her.

The girl showed up. She was happy to see me. We made out and I grabbed her boobs under her dress (no bra—hello).

We made out in her car for a while. Then she had to leave.

Call me, she said with a wink before speeding off.

I stumbled drunkenly to my car. Once inside, I did a big bump of coke for the ride home.

Now I’m here.

And all I want to do is fuck the living daylights out of my new curly-haired friend. Or at least lick her pussy until she comes a couple of times. It’s the least I can do.

Friday nights are the shit. I need to take advantage of them more than I do.

OK, time to smoke a bowl, jerk off to something hot and naaaaasty and go to sleep.

It’s the weekend, y’all. Hells to the yeah.

Oh shit—and Anna Paquin is on Jimmy Fallon tonight. Bring it on, baby. Bring that shit on.

Fuck you, Uncle Sam. Now pay me.

The U.S. government is fucking me. And not in the good way.

It kind of figures. For the first time in my life, I got my act together and went to an accountant. A really good accountant.

He showed me a myriad of things I could write off, and when all was said and done my refund was the largest it’s ever been. By a country mile. I’ve never gotten back thousands of dollars before. 2009 was gonna rock, baby!

And then, the fuckers must’ve just decided that I wasn’t worth that much money. They probably got wind of the fact that I’m just out here coasting through life and did not earn the right to get back so much of my hard-earned dough that I involuntarily send to their diamond toilet and gold-plated yacht fund every year.

I had to go so far as to file a claim with the U.S. government to either track down the original check (which some online robot swears was mailed out) or eventually send me a replacement check.

Of course, the paltry little California state return came back with a quickness. Bah! Sure, you owed my that chunk of change, and I’m glad you were man enough to pay it, Mr. California. But can you please say something to yer boy America? There’s a kilo of cocaine, a gross of condoms and a week fucking as many dirty hookers as (in)humanly possible in Amsterdam between raiding coffee shops for their supplies of Sour Diesel buds in my future whenever they gimme my $$$$. That shit is gonna be epic.