Madone, I'm a fuggin' stunad!

It would seem that despite all of my intentions, both pure and immoral, I cannot stop making a total ass of myself. There really doesn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to it other than I can be assured of firmly sticking my foot in it every chance I get. OK not every single chance, but it feels like at least a 10:1 ratio. I've always taken great pride in my critical thinking abilities, but lately I'm starting to wonder if that's warranted. This last year in particular was a real dust up, bearing witness to everything from me moving in with a junkie to working full time at a bar that is clearly on it's last legs to trying to date an old friend of mine.
Well. Now that those highlights are in print, I can certainly see where I went wrong, but then that's excruciating benefit of hindsight: if you're paying attention, you only have to make the same mistake once. This past year, my Ego appears to have been circling around my past mistakes, chin in hand, while thoughtfully looking at all the angles and kicking the tires and tweaking the nipples, before saying, with a contemplative scratch of hs wispy stubble,
"Well sure that didn't work out before but what if I try this exact same mistake...wait for it...here in New York? Eh? Like what you're hearing?"
My Id then spins around in his high-backed leather chair, props his feet up on the desk and, after a long pull on the cheap stogie he's been chewing on, replies,
"Kid, I like the cut of yuh jib. Yuh gonna go far in this town, mahk my woids. Where do we go from heah?"
Ego, who had been flop-sweating up to this point with anticipation, flops down on a surprisingly lumpy couch and pours himself a tumbler of J&B scotch from the imitation crystal decanter on the end table, carefully pondering his next words.
"Well", he says after a nervous sip of sub-par whiskey, "Let's do everything pretty much exactly the same as the last time."
Id raises his head from the rail of cocaine and baby laxative he'd been snorting, no mean feat considering he was doing so with his feet still on the desk and the cigar in his mouth, and says,
"Dis is hot shit. I also like where yuh takin dis repeat mistake thing. But I gotta axe ya, won't he notice dat it's the same gotdamn thing dat got him in dat pickle a few yeahs back? How we gonna sell dat?"
Ego leans forward on the couch and almost falls off due to the cushion sliding in an oblong manner over a rather sizable lump,
"That's the beauty. Technically these mistakes are brand new. I mean, he's never asked that particular chick out. We can always sell him on the fact that he liked her since he first met her and damn the torpedoes and all that crap. And who knows, maybe that junkie won't be the stealing-type. Oh, and hey, we can go with the angle of 'you can single-handedly turn that bar around so long as you really work hard of next to no money'! It's all justifiable."
Id tilts his head and swivels around to gaze out his floor-to-ceiling picture window. The coke is running through his veins like white fire now and, realizing the baby laxatives will start kicking in soon, he says,
"OK den. I'll have my people call ya when we're ready to go to woik. Yer a good kid, ya know dat?"
 Ego rushes to his feet, ecstatic,
"Oh, thank you sir! I'm so happy you approve!"
"Yeah yeah yeah. Gwan get outta heah. I gotta drop a corn snake in the terlet, knowattImean? We'll be in touch."
Once out in the hall, Ego feels a strange tug at his heart. He knows he just satisfied Id better than he could have hoped but there's something nagging deep down inside. I feel like I'm forgetting something, he thinks as he makes his way out of the building, but what could it be?
Meanwhile back in the office, Id rises from his chair, scratches his not inconsiderably sized balls and pads over to the couch. He bends down and pulls the cushions off to reveal my Super-Ego, bound and ball gagged. Id pulls the gag off and looks down menacingly at his incapacitated counterpart,
"Well, chumly, you hoid da kid. He's woikin fer me know. How's dat feel, knowin' youse lost again?"
Super-Ego opens his mouth to reply, but is cut short by two bullets to the head.
"Fuggedaboutit" Id chuckles, and wanders away to the john to take care of some unfinished business.

Anyways.

Got a little carried away there. I forgot I was writing my blog instead of auditioning to ghostwrite Snookie's first novel. Hey we all gotta make a buck. Sure, everyone is scoffing at the fact that the words "Snookie" and "book" are showing up in a sentence unaccompanied by the traditional "has never read a" or "doesn't know where to go to buy a" or even "couldn't figure out how to work a box of matches when she was trying to burn a". That's really no reason to slag the poor woman. In my mind, people who have their books ghostwritten for them and conceptual artists are sort of one and the same, except no one calls conceptual artists out for having more imagination than talent. In fact, Snooki already proved her artistic worth when she worked on a collaboration with Damien Hirst recently, entitled, All You Haters Suck My Bun:

It was auctioned off at Sotheby's for a cool $3.5 million, while the artistic integrity of a generation was hocked at the pawn shop around the corner for a measly $29.15 and a free hand-job from "Ethel".

In a totally unrelated and abrupt switch from what I was just talking about, for the first time this year California's Prop 19 (you know, the one where they legalize pot?) is showing signs of passing! I do believe, as much as I love NYC, I might have to look at the possibilities of wintering out on the West Coast. An unintended side effect of this groundswell of voter support is the possible across the board bolstering of California's Democratic candidates. It's looking like all those stoners, whose usual level of political activisim peaks at managing to watch the Daily Show and The Colbert Report back to back without falling asleep, have finally found a reason to head on down to the polls and do their civic duty. Political calculus whiz and possible necromancer Nate Silver had this to say about the upcoming races:

"There is a ballot initiative in California this year, Proposition 19, which would legalize the possession of small amounts of marijuana for personal consumption. The initiative, which polls suggest is a favorite to pass, might be motivating more young voters to show interest in this year’s elections, and that may translate into more support for Mr. Brown and Ms. Boxer, even though both have come out opposed to the initiative (as have the Republican candidates)."

While it is common knowledge that everyone under the age of 30 votes straight Democrat (with the exception of this wormy, little fuck), getting them to put down the gol-dang Xbox and Facepages has proved notoriously difficult in the past. Now, with a proposition to legalize possession of small amounts of marijuana for personal use on the ballot, Silver predicts they will bring a much needed boost to the Dem's middling charge and maintaining the status quo we can believe in. The only way I can see this backfiring would be an "ironic" outpouring of support for Gov. Schwarzenegger cause he was in that one movie where they went to Mars and that one chick had like three tits, you know? That movie was fucking awesome, dude.

This is why you don't mix your zeitgeist with your schadenfreude.

What's amazing is that special effect head is the most emotion ever recorded on Arnie's at any given time. Still, he might be able to pull off yet another term as the Guv, so long as he keeps this little expose` out of the media.



While certainly embarrassing it's not quite as damning as the GOP/Tea Bagger candidate for governor New York, Carl Paladino's little dustup with a NY Post editor in which he threatens to "take him out". That's the nice thing about the political system in this state: They know that you know they're crooks so let's just put it out there that you try any of this recall bullshit, well, not for nothing, but you know what's gonna happen.