We gonna hashtag that douche-bag, Torn Slatterns and Nugget Ranchers
You know, Siri, the personal assistant app for iPhone? Today, Madonna fired Siri for making eye contact.
“Jersey Shore” Snooki has a best-selling book, she’s promoting her second book while working on her third book. This from a girl who thinks an innuendo is an Italian rectal exam.
This from a girl who thinks the fetal position is when both people do it on their feet.
This from a girl who thinks Iambic Pentameter is a nightclub.
This from a girl who thinks a prepositional phrase is a sexually transmitted disease.
This from a girl who couldn’t spell genitalia if it was in her mouth. And it is.
Lindsay Lohan and her dad, Michael, were arrested, the mother, Dina, announced she’s writing a sleazy tell-all book. Today, all of white trash filed an injunction against the Lohans preventing the Lohans from comparing themselves to white trash.
“Jersey Shore” Snooki has a best selling book, she’s promoting her second book while working on her third book. In a related story, energy engineers are harnessing the incredible power generated from the spinning graves of Ernest Hemingway, J.D. Salinger and Mark Twain.
In Colorado Springs, a guy invited a girl he met online over for a date at 3:00 am, but when his girlfriend showed up unexpectedly, when his date arrived, he called the police reporting her as a burglar. It went from a booty call to a “She’s stealing my booty” call.
In an interview with “60 Minutes,” Ruth Madoff said she and Bernie tried to commit suicide. “Oh, those poor nice people, I feel so sorry for them,” said nobody on the planet.
Since you asked:
With an unprecedented late-October snowstorm looming, I’m guessing my East Coast pals, like “Foxhole” Woody, his lovely wife, Yanny and their daughter’s My Belle and Who-lee-yah, don’t so much want to hear about my morning surfing in gorgeous sparkling clear water and bright warm sunshine at La Jolla Shores/Scripps.
Fair enough, so I won’t say I started with a jamming - dare I say it? - almost Laird-like paddle from the Marine room to Scripps. Then caught about ten to fi-deen of the tastiest little lefts you ever saw. Not huge, but fun rides, one was real long and I worked the shoulder the whole way and then kicked out.
When I got back, I was so tired, I had to lie down for ten minutes. Looked at the clock, it was 11:30. When I woke up I thought maybe I had been asleep for five minutes tops. Looked at my watch: 12:45. That’s not a nap, that is passing out.
Very un-Laird-like as my buddy T.C. pointed out.
Tonicht? Lex’s grilled steak sandguidos Escondidos. Chipotle marinated tri tip, grilled French bread buns, topped with sautee’d onions with butter and fresh salsa. With ranch beans and a salad, a few San Diego Sunsets, a glass of red wine or two and then it is off to beddy-bye to hopefully surf again on Saturday before A.C.’s game.
So Lex, buddy, bon-vivant, man-about-town, politically savvy satirist;
What do you make of the Herman Cain smoking-guy commercial?
Is everyone in the media chattering about it?
Then it worked. Period.