Sunday Musings
Thanks to all who showed up for last night’s book signing at Book Soup. I hope your humble narrator did you proud.
Reading your own work in public is always nerve wracking, even more so when it involves frequent references to what you would do to the boobie hottie suckle thighs, but the crowd was supportive, and no scrotelobsters showed up to kick my ass, which is always good.
Ubiquitous Red Cup was in the house, as were my HoHos and ‘Train.
Speaking of literature writ visceral, a number of readers have been inquiring if the Hellboy/Selma Blair coupling constitutes a hott/douche situation, given that Hellboy is rocking the burnt orange skin, displaying his abs, and has a tuft of chin pubes straight out of the O.C. I’m inclined to give Hellboy a pass, what with being a mutant and all, but figured I’d open it up for debate.
I would trade in a post-Yeti Natalie Portman at the Macy’s exchange window just to purchase a Flowbee to give Selma Blair’s cat a more even summer haircut.
