Dragging the line, I am wearing a stolen t-shirt. It smells like collogne and is worn (old) and awwwww. Collongne, a little ugh, but toleratable. Meanwhile, "I've been working on a piece that speaks of sex and desperation." But isn't it all that way? The French on telephone, 'ellugh. And they don't seem to be so stuck on the good looking like we are, three cheers for the French. Hear (rather see) that Stacy! 3 Cheers for the French! Those bleu blanc rouge bastards, right Stacy. Stacy Stacy Stacy. But the yellow subtitles continue undeserved and back it is to Dr. Boyle's term paper, which I have wrongly pulled my eyeballs out for while my hair is thinning like patience. Though, like a circa 19th century man, I will blame it on my connection to the moon. Could be true if I was unknowlingly deductive. Enough of this pretentious banter. *I just exclaimed a YES! when I saw the IFC is showing a drag queen film marathon tonight at 10:15. -Hedwig and the Angry Inch and Female Trouble. Female Trouble! John Waters! YES!

voyez-vous bientôt mon ami