BLOWJACK

Well, This clown detective staggers home gracefully every single night of the week. "Whiskey please!?!" is my mating call. I occasionally kill TV "shitcoms" for fun... to be blunt. But where would we be without the scientific method I ask? How would we know that Ambien causes "sleep-driving"? Or that a gimp with a ball gag is statistically within a mile of you anywhere in the continental United States? How, I ask?!? The New Rome has a Lawn Gnome in it's front yard for chrissakes. Savor today, for tomorrow might serve liver for dinner. Always look both ways when on the couch, watching T.V. and never, ever, turn your back on a hippie-loving-peacenik. Ever. I've tried and failed at my many "artistic endevors", but this time around, the shit is sticking to the wall. Not gradually sliding down, leaving a brown trail on the yellowed, torn flower-print wallpaper like before. No. This time is different. The Clowns are coming. Coming a lot. Oooooow baby. Who luvs ya? --BJ