When I got home from the gym this evening I happened to be listening to Britney Spears’ most recent opus, ‘3′. My cat, as per usual, met me at the door. Somewhat delirious from endorphins I decided to personalize the song for my small, meowing friend. Thus the lyrics ‘Are you in?/Living in sin is the new thing’ became ‘Are you grey?/Living with cats is the new thing’. I paused for a moment, concerned that I was becoming that homosexual. You know, the sweaty weirdo who sings Britney Spears songs to his elderly cat. Then I remembered that I had been singing her a Nick Cave song earlier when I got home from work and felt somewhat redeemed. If you’re wondering, the song ‘Oh Children’ became ‘Oh Kittens’.

She is cute as hell, though.

The Grige

Christ it’s dark already.

I once paid for a pack of cigarettes with subway tokens.

Hi friends! This here web log has had it’s best month, in terms of hits, thanks primarily to three regular readers and several hundred perverts. As previously mentioned, I’ve gotten quite a bit of what I like to call ‘pegging traffic’; that is, people who have used a search engine to find information or images of the sex act of pegging and ended up here. I suppose it’s the tasteful watercolor depicting pegging that I posted here, twice, but still I ask, “Where are the people searching for the intermittent ramblings of a reformed lunatic?” It’s sad when all the pearls fall upon deaf ears, to mix some metaphors.

That said, here are a few more images of pegs throughout the ages.

A Clothing 'Peg' or Pin

A Feeding 'Peg' or Stent

Peggy 'Peg' Bundy

A 'Peg' Leg or Heather Mills

'Pegging' You Filthy Animals

I like the word mislaid because it makes loss seem like a polite accident. 

And because I really should add something else, here’s a video of a cat taking a faucet shower.

I wonder if tonight celebrities are nervous, sleepless; walking about their mansions closing windows and locking doors. If, perhaps, this season of death weighs heavy on their thoughts, the summer long and littered with bodies.

Today I watched a roast of William Shatner in which Farrah Fawcett appeared. It was before the cancer left her ravaged but you could catch the leading edge of something – her arms looked thin, a tinge of desperation as she botched her speech one time, then again, finally lowering her head in uncomfortable laughter. She was having trouble with an errant bra strap and seemed distracted. At one point she said, “I’m not on anything!” exasperated and you wanted to believe her.

When I got home I was looking on YouTube for clips from the roast, but I couldn’t find any. Instead I found a series of commercials Farrah starred in for her line of shampoo. They were soft-focused with horses in fields and dogs on beaches. Her hair was blond and big, her teeth white and somehow very California.

It must be wonderful and terrible to be famous. And to have your own shampoo.

In light of Kanye’s VMA outburst this evening, I present you with vintage Kanye going off the rails:

Quick note Kanye, George hates poor people. Everyone hates poor people.