Waring a Bit Thin

Getting back into blogging after taking a bit of a break is like squeezing yourself into a new pair of latex undies, one would think. You have to ease yourself in bit by bit, take it slow, easy does it. On the other hand, a liberal sprinkling of talcum powder doesn't seem to help much and once in, it's hard to get back out.

Three poor quality posts this week equals my output for the past three months, a barren spell by anyone's standards. I was suffering a period of creative dullness, barely bothered to even notice what was going on in the mad, mad world around me let alone sit down and think about it. One thing that I have noticed is that the historic Pantages Theater in Hollywood seems to be having electrical problems, specifically with their neon sign. Over the past few weeks it has spelled all of the following:

ANTA ES
PANTAG
P NTAGES
TAG S
P T ES
PISSFLAPS

Funny how nobody noticed.

Okay, I made the last one up but the others are true. It's interesting to note that the only letter that seems to work consistently is the letter 'T'. I have made a mental note to document any further problems with the sign with pictures which I will submit to Museum of Neon Art for an exhibition of poorly maintained signs.
I have also observed that the smell of piss in the rear doorway of the old KFWB studio on Yucca has become so bad that even the homeless have abandoned it. The smell is due to a floor mat that was left there when the building was vacated and has subsequently been urinated on by the entire homeless population and full contingent of passing clubbers in Hollywood. If asked, most nomads would say that any port in a storm will do, but on a recent stormy Friday night the dry yet stinky doorway was noticeably free of unwashed vagrants. I've pissed in many a doorway whilst staggering home from the pub, usually Horace's Shoe Shop as it was recessed way back from the street and away from passing police cars, many other people did too and it smelled fuckin' terrible but this is far, far worse than the worst piss smell you could imagine. It is noticeable even across the street and with the right breeze, the other side of Vine St. So come on Johnny G Rant, Honorary Mayor of Hollywood ( I know you read this) get your act together and clean the fucker up, the cold nights are coming and the homeless need a home.

KFWPEE more like.....(childish giggles)

Tired

A restless night last night, scared that the Shrek dream would return to haunt me, I spent the night tossing (yes, very funny) and turning. It's strange though that only the bad dreams are really memorable. I can't remember the last good dream that I had beyond the Olympic shitting dream of a week or so ago (still no reply from the IOC by the way).

Somebody should invent some kind of dream capture device, possibly a hard hat lined with tin foil wired to an old Polaroid camera. On second thoughts, a Polaroid may not be practical due to the cost of the films, although you could probably pick up the camera from a charity shop for next to nowt. If anyone is interested in working on such an invention, I am willing to split the proceeds. We could perhaps apply for some kind of grant from Richard Branson or Prince Charles. Free money is the best kind of money and ideal for gambling with as you don't incur any personal losses. The hookers don't seem to mind either, money is money to their sort. We could use our winnings from the gambling to buy the hat and the tin foil. Email me if you are up for it.

Speaking of twats (Branson, Charlie), I'm extremely annoyed at my dentist for failing to do a filling when I first told him about it over a year ago. I told him again six months ago and he told me not to worry, then on my last check up a couple of weeks ago he decided that it finally needed doing. So I go in yesterday and after the normal pre-dentalwork routine (cough and drop etc.) he starts to drill away. After a minute or two of poking around (ha-ha!) he informs me that I now need a fuckin' root canal, the sadistic bastard. This will be the 2nd one this year and comes at a time when I can ill afford the expense.

I have always had my suspicions about dentists. They can tell you practically anything, and just like plumbers and car mechanics, they more or less have a license to print their own money. Up until a couple of years ago, I didn't go to a dentist for about 7 years and when I finally got over the fear and went in for a check up, all I needed apart from a good cleaning was one filling to replace an old one that had fallen out. So why then, in the two years since I started going again have I needed more work done than in the 7 previous years of not fucking going? Call me a cynic but I think he's taking the piss. I will be removing him from the xmas card list if he's not careful.

Never Going To Sleep Again....Ever

I really don't feel all that comfortable talking about it but need to get it off my chest. It's quite disturbing. I've been thinking about it all day and not in a good way.

I mentioned it to Mrs.W when I got home from work. She laughed at first but it seemed like a rather nervous "you scare the shit out me sometimes" type laugh. She has good reason.

Another odd dream last night. I've been having a few lately. I have not been taking my medication as prescribed because it was making it hard to wake up in the morning. I was taking it right before bed so I wouldn't forget but decided to try taking it in the morning instead. I'm always rushing in the morning though and sometimes don't take it. I am blaming the dreams on this change as the alternatives are not acceptable.

Last night, or rather this morning right before I woke up in a cold sweat, feeling very very ashamed indeed, I dreamed that I was giving Shrek a blow job........ There I said it. Laugh all you want to, you callous bastards. Just put yourself in my shoes.....It's a very uncomfortable feeling waking up knowing that you just fantasized, albeit unwillingly, about blowing a cartoon ogre. I'm not gay, I'm not gay, I'm not fuckin' gay!!!!! I don't have a thing for green ogre's with Scotch accents either.

Shrek wielding his weapon....the brute.

This is bad. How the fuck do I ever sit with my daughter and watch Shrek 1, 2 or 3 ever again???? What do I tell her when she asks to watch the fucker? I will have to lie to her. I can't tell her the fuckin' truth can I? Why couldn't it have been Princess Fiona? Or even the donkey for fucks sake? At least then I could laugh about it.

I was going to blog about my weekend in San Diego. Took a couple of nights off from the club as the day job had thoughtfully organized a meeting in SD and was paying for the weekend in a hotel for the family. Nothing much happened though outside of me getting rat arsed on Friday night and feeling extremely poorly on Saturday. Besides, the Shrek dream this morning took the shine off things.