Fake Living is Better Than Real Living

I have nothing to write about. Nothing interesting is happening in my life right now. Were it a bowl of ice cream, the flavor of my life would be air. Seeing as how I don't have anything compelling to discuss, there are a number of different approaches this particular blog post can take. First and foremost, I can buckle my bootstraps and come up with something creative. Something original. Something like this post from earlier in the year: http://cbsvg.blogspot.com/2008/01/dames-of-square-soft-enix-whatever-they.html

Clearly that is not going to happen.

Honestly, my well is pretty dry right now. So until I drop acid or lick a hallucinogenic toad again, there might be a dearth of awe-inspiring posts. Don't worry, I've got a trip planned to Curacao in the coming weeks and if there is one place in the world to go to procure an amphibian that will cause you to trip balls, it's in the Dutch Indies. So I've got that going for me. I guess my life isn't so boring after all. Especially when I completely fabricate everything about it.

Take this weekend, for example. In my real life, it was spent with a wicked hangover and unimaginable beer wigglies. But in my fake life, I just missed cashing at the World Series of Poker. Distraught over my misfortune, I wandered through the streets of Vegas looking for a whore to beat up. Finding no sluts to pummel, I took a taxi to the airport and randomly boarded a passenger jet to Honolulu. Once there...holy shit, Josh Hamilton just hit a home run a reported 512 feet. Great god that was enormous.

In the midst of a 28 home run barrage Hamilton launched a blast that would have given Babe Ruth a boner had he not been simultaneously eating 3 hot dogs whilst fucking a prostitute. Well that was one of the most impressive things I've ever seen. And I didn't even need to make it up. That actually happened.

Here for no apparent reason, other than she is flamingly attractive and posed topless in French Maxim (or maybe FHM) recently, is a picture of Keeley Hazell:
What is more impressive? Josh Hamilton's 512 foot home run or Keeley Hazell's rack?

Thus ends this stream of consciousness blog post. Blame Henry Miller's Tropic of Cancer for this experiment. I feel wholly unsatisfied with this effort. I will therefore bring you gold next time. You hear that? Gold, I tells ya. Solid gold.