These past, UnBlogged Days, I've Been up To..

.. just above my elbow.. in another man's.. Oh, who am I kidding. Cheap Puns Never worked for me. They're so.. middle class, you know? Indeed. To tell the truth, I've actually been.. You know..


CHOKING THE CHICKEN!!

GUFFAW! FUCKING GUFFAW! NOW! EVERYONE!

GUFUCKINGFAW!


Sorry. Getting up at 5:37 every fucking day is getting to me. Especially when I had to battle a damn mosquito until 2:30 am hier soir.. until which time I turned on the lights, saw him in full, resplendent, 60 watt glory.. and mashed him into the palm of my guilty hands. Or perhaps it was a her.. no matter. I am nonetheless operating on three hours sleep. Making crude puns.

And loving every minute of it.

So.. what have I been up to? Well, a little hiking about the canyons near ma maison, seeing as it is San Diego in near-Summertime..















.. and soaking up the splendor offered forth by our Mother Nature.













Yes, have some more nature photography. As I hiked, I may or may not have been listening to...



.. My motherfucking top 25 most played list! Yes, I know you, dear reader, constantly emailing me, asking, "David, I have this chouette fete I simply must host.. What shall I spin for the homies?"

Fear not, young troubador. Simply click on the picture, enlarge, and do what you must. If it's hard to read.. Tough shit, eh? Eh. The number one song is, of course, "Bridge over Troubled Waters," by Elvis Presley. And don't forget to, you know, pour out a little. For the homies. The homies who ain't here.

I usually only listen to random shuffle, anyways, so the "top"choices are by no means 100% accurate.. although the King would be near the apex regardless. Not seen, but likely atop? "Sylvia's Mother," by Dr. Hook and the Medicine Show. Written by Shel Silverstein.



I call it "University of San Diego, as seen between two power lines." And then, wearing a black turtleneck, I piss on art and all of her tainted majesty.


And then -





Cut to Kicking it in the front yard, garden style. I water these flowers with Martha Stewart's tears. Tears of shame, of failure. I devilishly smile, relishing my victory.

And then.. I wax her like Daniel-San waxing his new Buick before he goes to wax Elisabeth Shue after learning the Wax-on Wax-off technique and tucking in a drunk little Mr. Miyagi, giver of cars, survivor of World War II related atrocities.. bemoaner of a love now gone.

As this tale suggests, such regal beauty comes at a price; a life truly lived ages thrice where others.. only twice.. even the brightest flame must diminish. I encourage my lovelies to rage, rage against the dying of the light. Like Thornton Melon. And Jean Claude Van-Damme. One could say that, well...
















Every rose has it's thorn.

Much like every cowboy sings a sad, sad song, I continue on, Delicately, and intricately pondering the mysteries of life.. the intangible je ne sais quoi.. the things that make you go hmm.. that which is, and nary is not.. that which is to come.. and those who are to come. And come often. With style, and unprecedentedly dignified hauteur; pregnant with the splendid joie de vivre so many find so unattainable.. while mine own chalice, findeth I, overrunneth.