New Pitch, Krumpy!

Up betimes and into my office, to commit further acts of devilry.

Notes:

“Half” refers to No Brane Babby. If you don’t know about Babby Hope Faith, you should look into it so you can be fully appalled by my tastelessness. I understand that some people enjoy being appalled and I am here for you.

Also it is interesting to note that a GIS for Denise Richards (I almost used Denise instead of Cleese) yields mostly full body shots including nude ones one the first page of results. This was not the case with Abraham Charles Vigoda.

In Other News: Two Short Stories About Last Night

Ruby took me to KEXP last night to snap some local rock dudes, which she does on the regular. It was tiny and hot in there and I was starving, so I ate and drank at the adjacent Holiday Inn bar.

After the first show, one of the rockers offered me a CD, which is presumably full of their rockings, and Ruby took the opportunity to say, “SJ listens to (stage whisper) HIP HOP but we are trying to get her to branch out.” The rocker guy withdrew his hand after giving me the CD as if he had just taken a great risk by giving a poore leper some alms. I think he was mostly reacting to the tone of Ruby’s voice, but it was pretty funny.

Translation: “Here,” Ruby says, “take pity on my friend Herpes Helen and give her some REAL music.”

When I walked into the Ho-tel Mo-tel Holiday Inn bar a familiar sight greeted me: a white guy, probably in his 50s, drinking alone. Countdown to comment on the personal appearance of woman entering who just wants a fucking cheese burger in 3…2…

“HEY you should probably get out of the SUN,” he bantered. HYUK HYUK.

“Yeaaah I always look like this. I’m Irish.” No eye contact.

“Oh, I was talking about your hair…er…sorry if I’ve offended you.”

“What can I get you?” interjected the bartender, who was attractive, looked to be about my age, and puts up with this for a living.

I ordered scotch and the dude continued to flail a bit. “That one’s on me,” he said.

I considered being huffy and prideful and shutting him down, but you know what? That’s a stupidity tax, man. I enjoyed a free scotch just as much as I would have enjoyed one I paid for myself.

“I’m really sorry,” he said again, awkwardly.

“You have to try harder than that to offend me,” I said. “Cheers.”