I robbed this up from Trackosaurus:
I had a little talk with Jordan Hufnagel yesterday concerning a bit of bicycle repair for me, the building of some cabinets for him, and what I'm sincerely hoping is the eventuality of me scoring one of his delicious frames. Young fellers' only had his shingle out for 8 months, and is apparently inundated with work.
Make no mistake, his work is of the finest kind. He unwrapped a couple of outgoing goodies for me to ogle, and I swear to god, I've rarely seen finer craftsmanship.
Dude couldn't be nicer, either.
I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired. This whole upper respiratory infection bullshit is the worst. This is what I get for quitting smoking, drugs, and soda pop. An endless hack and bloody boogers, like I've been living under a bridge somewhere. Thank god getting shit-hammered on beer is still considred a relatively benign habit, and one that the doctors never seem to ask you about while they're surreptitiously checking your arms for track marks. I got a weeks scrip for antibiotics and an inhaler, but hot doctor #2 (who is only appreciably different from hot doctor #1 by her 5 month pregnant belly, and a 3 carat rock that spurred the briefest fantasy of me mouth-fucking her while i managed to get that diamond off her finger) only laughed when I told her that I was in real physical pain, and couldn't she give me something stronger, like, I dunno, morphine?
Fuckin doctors. What do they know?
- ► 2009 (95)
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