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It's Not EaZy, Being SleaZy

2004-04-25_xx_10:37 a.m.


At some point yesterday, it occurred to me in the depths of my Draft dagy binge, that I am still a single male.

When my original plans for pretending to not be a single male fell through yesterday I decided to do something about it.

Her name was Jill and it the Murder City Devils T-shirt and the odd persona that followed this particular article of clothing that drew me in. And seeing as how my car and my phone have both died on me this weekend, she offerred to not only take me to my home when last call raised it's ugly head, she also placed a wonderfully evil prank call to Gaius Cassius after overhearing and then jumping into a conversation I was having with the Poet about him.

She was wonderfully evil as the rug burns that adorn my frame and the red welts that tattoo hers will atest. In addition to not even leaving a "thanks for a good time" or "call me" note scrawled, she also swiped a bottle of tequilla on her exit; my cash and credit cards have been accounted for.

Now I remember why I sometimes hate being single, because of shitty moments of joy like this one. Those cosmic connections that once exposed to the light of day turn out to be bigger frauds that George Dubyah's military records.

But the jokes on her, dearest of diaries. Not only have we been trying to peddle off that bottle of tequilla on anyone willing to take it for the better part of a year, I also have her liscense. That is to say, our recycling container that gets emptyied by the city every monday now has her drivers licsense.

...fucking bitch...

sigh

...

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