FREEEEDOMMMMM!!!!!

So Wednesday afternoon, I got a call from my Creative Manager. You're looking at one of the first six casualties of the Subaru departure.

The important news is that I finally have something to write about in my blog again.

Observe:


It is I, flossing like a boss the day after I received the news. Drunk off the free Heiney and full of steak, mushroom and crostini hors d'oeurvres. Also free of charge. As I am no longer receiving a paycheck, I found it necessary to go with Big Daddy Gabe and Special Correspondent Steve to a Hispanic Infiniti campaign party for free food, drinks and a jazz performance by a man who calls himself "Chocolate" (pronounced w/ a Spanish accent). This was a night right after I received the same VIP treatment at an illustration house party.

The latest news: day 2 at a small boutique shop called Cowboy.

Definitive Spelling

I believe I have found concrete proof that supports the definitive spelling of the plural form of "ho."

And not surprisingly, it comes from this gentleman right here:



When trying to find out the title of a Snoop Dogg song that I heard on the radio one day, I ran a Google search for the following:

"and I really don't love hos" snoop lyrics

Not a single hit. But being the clever search engine that it is, Google asked...

Did you mean: "and I really don't love hoes" snoop lyrics

Why, yes. I suppose I did.

And suddenly I was faced with 610 results, all of which provided the answer I was looking for, as well as proof that the correct spelling is "hoes."

In case you were wondering, the song in question was "Snoop Dogg is the Shiznit." Clearly he has never heard of Crispy Browne.

WTF?

If this doesn't entice you to try the product, then I don't know what will.

My Childhood Home

The house where I grew up in Plantation, FL. It's the one on the northeast corner.



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The tree to the right of the driveway in front was slightly uprooted by Hurricane Andrew, and the sidewalk near it is a mess. To the top left, there was a yard where my dog Scooter used as his personal toilet. You had to tiptoe around dog shit to get to the massive grapefruit tree that was there. Next to it was a mango tree. Under the mango tree, my sister nearly had a heart attack when my father picked up a stone to reveal a colony of cockroaches. I used to shoot eggs up against a tree with an air rifle in the backyard. Alligators used to get trapped in the drains on the corner. Wildlife Rescue would get them out, tape their mouths shut, and the kids in the neighborhood would be allowed to pet them.

I'm not sentimental about many things, but I always get a little emotional when I see my childhood home.

Saddam Hussein alive?

As seen the other night at Rio Grande on 38th and 3rd in Manhattan:

Not surprised, really. If anything can turn a Muslim into an infidel, it's the margaritas in that place.

Nachos ain't bad neither.

Where I'm From

marriedtothesea.com

I don't care how old it is.

This still cracks me up.



I don't have a clue of what she was even trying to say.