Found in London this week Love whose vagina? My vagina? Oh, you mean love my penis. No, love my balls. You love my balls.

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A Special Gift For All

Today I received a special message from a colleague in response to an antagonistic email. The message and its value are such, that I feel obliged to share it around. I encourage everyone to use it as a tool in dealing with annoying, deluded and persistent people… whether they be friends having a go at you for something, spam, real estate agents angrily demanding the return of a signed lease which agrees to a rent increase that was not agreed upon, or your boss saying you need to do more overtime… for free, because he somehow developed the impression one of your pastimes was preparing streamlined documents… for free, or the currency you deal in is pizza, not money. It doesn’t require any words on your part, or any action, just send this picture and they will get the message. I did.

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Why am I such a knob?

In Istanbul I lost my camera one night, simple as that. This night however, I dropped it into my pint of beer while trying to take a pic. Of all the fucking places for it to fall. Some people have cool stories about the death of their camera… it fell while on a yacht in the Mediterranean, while water skiing, while making passionate love on a beach. Me, I drop mine into a pint at a shitty lesbian bar. Then for the rest of the night I watched it slowly die, each shot getting crapper and crapper, until it was game over.

Being a knob is expensive, and embarrassing. Like when you’re out at dinner and using your hands to tell a story and bash the bottle of wine everywhere. The crowd leans back.. aghast.. what ARE you.

I’m just a kid. Leave me alone.

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