Saving Facebook: My ConfessionsOrdinarily, I don't mind being home alone, but our poltergeist just wafted through the bedroom, singing "Viva, Viagra!"
In a word: He'p.
I'm smelling traces of Hai Karate.
And Sen-Sen.
The room's turned cold and it's whispering questions about The Toni Twins.
The Next Morning
Woke up with a smile on my face and a carton of half-puffed Chesterfield's on my pillow. Since I don't smoke and seldom smile, I'd better turn on INSIDE EDITION and see what I've been up to.
Also need to hide my assets and pray I was wearing the mirrored underpants with decals of silver bullets and the cast of GHOSTBUSTERS 2 on them.
Thankfully, linen reeks of garlic, which suggests I warded off evil spirits or, heavens forbid, I had a Larry King sleepover.
My paranoia increases with my intake of neighborly veggies from the toothless troll under our porch. Hmm, the mushrooms are Jitterbugging and the spork is levitating a heap o' DayGlo kidney beans with an ominous drip my way. Hate to eat or run...
Haircut today. I hate mingling at the farewell 'poo. After the shear, I'll be expected to say a few words, like "Looks good." Buck up, Mike.
Some men have a Rendezvous With Destiny. I have the occasional Get-Together With Smock.
Actually, smocks kinda embarrass me. The worst part is the sucking in of the gut.
I'm always hoping the flare pants come back, mainly because that's the shape of my ankles.
