The Firefly
Ah, a lazy Saturday for The DB1. Last night’s adventures in debauchery featured extensive alcohol, followed by loud monosyllabic conversations with Bleethed out hotties. But the hotness attracted me like gel to follicle, and I attempted to liberate them from the clutches of the L.A. HipsterBags, pawing them like so many feral cats.
Today finds my supplies of Night Train and HoHos running dangerously low, which means a run to the deli this afternoon. Instead I munch on pop tarts and orange juice. Because every so often, I gotta mix in some health foodstuffs.
I also plan to pick up a fire extinguisher. Because someone’s gotta put out the fire raging on Greasy McAqua’s head there. As to big haired Persian Hotness, I would learn Farsi and ply them with overpriced cocktails on Sunset if it meant I could sniff their hairspray while fondling their inner thighs with an oven mitt.
