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Man, Larry Flynt is my hero. I loved that movie about him.

Sorry, I'm in Porn-stralia these days. Got porn on my brain. Wanna kill Ron Jeremy and steal his life. Yeaahhh. The penis reduction surgery would be a bitch, though.

Here's a question: How much better off was the Science FIction genre when we had actual scientists writing instead of, say, ex-business writers (no, Gary, I'm not fucking talking about YOU) and lifelong SF fans (ditto)? Was it better off when we had people creating interesting things instead of spending significant portions of their time writing press releases about their new book?

Feh. Dunno.

In other news, Buffy game may be disintigrating. Ah, well.

Report card season going well. I'll be out of house Saturday to let Snra. Bitter work.

Evil is prepping to leave the country. That's good.

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Oh, yeah: amusing thingy.

So, today Snra. Bitter & I hear that the CBC will be having a Paul Anka concert at their Front St. venue. Gotta Win to Get In, yadda yadda yadda.

Well, Pappa Bitter is a fan of Paul Anka, so Yr Humble jounalizer decides "let's try to get tickets!"

I call into the CBC hotline, listen to a shockingly long message, and leave my vitals. Check my messages at break, and we got 'em. Huzzah!

Call home to let Mama Bitter know that they gotta come into T Daht on Monday.

Only to learn they are in fact coming in Saturday. To fly out on a week long cruise. Le Sigh.

I try to be the good son, really. Try so very hard.