Canadian Pack-Mule (or, Manners Go Miles).

I work like a mother fucking dog. 

This weekend, I traversed six different states, managing three tours and two radio shows, a TV show and a residency for one of the biggest acts in the past 25 years (Beyonce).  I saw the Black Keys soundcheck and was reminded that they are, indeed, terrible.

I can name-drop like a mother fucking pro. 

I conceptualized an entire new show, based on the complete and total absurdity with which my mind tends to view the world, and its inhabitants.  I'll probably never get around to writing it...but it amused the hell out of me, for awhile.

I can find humor in all things, all of the time.

I talk too much about myself, for someone who generally feels indifferent to his own existence.

I can get by without dying.  For the most part. 

I don't sleep much.  Seriously,  I hate sleeping alone.  I don't sleep any better with someone there...I just don't like waking up to nothing but an uninhabited expanse of bed.

Godsmack is also terrible.  Their staff, however... hilarious. 

I could go to a modern, progressive church...or I could listen to "All You Need Is Love" by The Beatles and essentially get the same basic message.  One takes considerably less time (7 minutes) than the other (70+). 

DJs can seriously fuck off.  You're not that impressive.  One could train a chimp to do what you do. 

Chimps have mastered iPads.  Next...humanity.  Planet Of The Apes was a self-fulfilling prophesy.  Let's hope that Angry Birds keeps them at bay...for now, at least.

I excel at non-sequitors; non-linear thought.  Good.  Straight lines are boring.  Straight girls tend to be, as well. 

Kidding.  Seriously.  I need more of you in my life.