Originally published on February 6, 1997
Leave the bastard. Kick him out into the fruity liasons of territories still in contention. That seems to be all Jack can produce of himself. Man I greive for all the potential Jack could possibly manage yet continues to fuck up. You know, the first time we ever met, when he said he wished he could be like me...
I now suppose he was right, once upon a time. I am me, he ain't.
That was some strong detail you suffered, baby. Jack is a real ass, I'm sorry. Frankly I love you, not him, although Gene Wilcox and I were just watching Jack coordinate a video shoot we watched blah blah...and still recognize the power of Jack's presence...
I'm not only tired, I'm on the tail end of an 18 hour drunk. Gene Wilcox, who thinks, argues thinking he is, but ultimately agrees that I not he is the baby Jesus, is still here passed out on the couch...
GT
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment