Good bye Naomi

Sometimes when you're driving, cars catch on fire. That's what they say. Guess what. Tis true. Fucking pop snots.

Thanks to Jiffy Lube in Pasadena. Five minutes after we left there, my girlfriend's car caught on fire and burned to a stanky crisp.

2009

What will happen in 2009?
The light will shine on our illness and tight skizzills. And the economizzle will continue to wallowizzile in a massive recessizzle.
We will overcome. And Jen will finally get preggers.
Prince and the NPG will reunite for a one off in Kabul.
Irish Cream will be the new Vanilla.
Rap will become a movement again. After we murder all the bling blingers in a wash of overpriced champagne and diamond studded crosses that mock the very religion they're based on.
I'll get paid.
Old time drinks will become the shit, at least according to an airline mag I just read.
Drinks will fly down my hatch, but probably not as rapidly or frequently as in 2008 or other years.
Tesla will take Journey's spot as most over-visited band of the past.
Magic Johnson will finally get AIDS.
Cialis will be the new Ecstasy.
Obama Drama will replace Bush Shit.
Brad and Angelina will adopt children form every low income area of the world except that in their own backyard.
I'll get five haircuts.
PBR will be replaced by MGD as the BFD.
The Pacers will win the Super Bowl.
Black will be the new Black.
Many people who are old and made music or movies will die. A few young ones will too. Their names and faces will scroll during the appropriate awards shows after an introduction by some haggard and soon to die performer.
Big Mike Jackson will wear scarves over his soon to be non-existent nostrils.
We will all get older, for better or worse.
My man GWB will enjoy more quail hunting, less warmongering.
"Freshkins" will permeate the slang vernacular. At least I hope.
I'll think about how this is the last year of the decade of the new millennium. I'll listen to people who say, "Can you belive this fuckin' decade is already over?" and generally I'll agree with them. I'll then listen to people who will remind me that the world ends in 2012. I won't agree with them ever, and though I won't do it physically, in my mind I'll bitch slap them with my balls.
I will continue to thank god for the blessing of my life, Melissah Louise Bridge. That's why 2008 was the best 365 ever. If you ever have the chance to meet the girl, you'll understand why I stare at the ceiling wondering how I got so lucky.
My script I sold into development will actually get thrown into the can. A power hungry douche bag agent will see me as the next big enchilada and sign me. I'll bite down on my pride's chode and be hired to rewrite the new Herbie movie. I won't give a fuck because it will pay off my debt, ny car loan, and dress my boo in the finest of fabrics and garments. If you don't know already, I'm a writing whore. You pay Daddy, he dances like a five pence skeezer.
2010 comes next.
We finally decide what this decade is called. The 80s? The 90s? The...? What the fuck is this decade called? Seriously. Tell me. Please. My vote goes for "Double Ohs." My girl like, "The Hundreds." I no longer give a fuck. I just want a god damned answer.
The next retro fashion? The 1620s. Feudalism is ill like the plague.

We all get laid.