(no subject)

I had a very long post written about how much today has been in a continual state of "suck" but I got bored with it and the whole paragraph about wishing a slow painful death upon Bernard is something I might mildly regret if he does actually die of his own stupidity. So:

*INVISIBLE WOEFUL POST*

Have a poem.

( Ten Ways To Avoid Lending Your Wheelbarrow To Anybody )

(no subject)

R: So, I'm going to [well-known gay bar] on Halsted tonight. We're scoping it out, I'm performing there tomorrow.
Sam: Oh really? Well, have fun, I guess.
R: You ever been there?
Sam: I've had a beer there with the box-office crowd.
R: Is it cool?
Sam: You, uh, know it's a gay bar, right?
R: What?
Sam: Gay bar. So, you know. Put a little ass-shake into it.
R: You're fucking with me.
Sam: It's in Boy's Town. What did you think it was?
R: There are some good blues bars on Halsted!
Sam: I'm sure it's a great blues bar. Just practice the phrase, "My boyfriend's an ex-con, and he wouldn't like it."
R: Oh man. What do I do?
Sam: Play your fucking harmonica, it's not like you're going to get raped in an alley, pretty-boy.
R: My boyfriend's an ex-con, and he wouldn't like it.
Sam: Exactly.