28 June, 2011

Talkin' about not talkin' about butts.

Here we are, my little illiterati, three days into Butt Week and I still have not been distracted by the thoughts of butts.

Pictured: A man who likes his butts.
You know I even made a banner for this thing? Seriously. There was going to be a banner for butt week. Alas, no butts have distracted me. That's probably what happens when your weekend gets fucked wait for it in the ass.But, no, I pulled doubles on Friday and Saturday and then worked a half day on Sunday. Filled out my time card yesterday and found I put in sixty one hours last week. Of course, this would be a bomb ass pay check. Forty hours time plus twenty one hours time and a half? Sounds pretty sweet doesn't it?
Yeah, sounds sweet to me, too.
Too bad I'm salaried.
So my thoughts have not been so butt-related lately. Sunday, I just wanted to get the fuck outside and get some sunshine and yesterday? Yesterday I don't remember much. Same shit, different day. I remember I got really gassy after eating leftovers from last night. There's a butt thing, I guess. But it's not like a sex-butt thing because A) it's about farts and B) it's about my butt. Nothing sex-butt about that. I mean I guess it has a great deal to do with bodily functions and what not, sure, but this isn't biology class. This is a music blog with a proposed focus on DIY home recording peppered with occasional (read: frequent) diversions into my several neuroses (which, if listed here, would read like the side-effects listing in a commercial for some new antihistamine or boner pill).
But, it is Butt Week and we have to have something butt related. I guess as long as we're talking about butts in a not-all-that-hygienic manner, I'll turn the mic over to Redd Foxx.

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