Say it ain't so Joe! There you go...

Okay, hi. How bout that feisty little thing from up north, eh? She really winked and ‘aw shucks’ed her way right into my heart last night. Don’t know about you guys, but I’m ready for the rapture. Of course, as we’ve already discussed, that would require Obama getting elected, as I believe one of the seven plagues is a black guy over all of us all the time or something like that (black sky? Nope. Pretty sure it’s black guy. And Obama is half that, so that kind of works. But if, as is my suspicion, he pardons OJ and puts him in the cabinet, well, that’s a black guy, right? I mean, am I right?) but THEN, Jesus, prick that he is, is most likely gonna be so mad that we didn’t vote his holy warriors into office that he’s gonna freak out and probably throw a tantrum and ruin the whole rapture. The spoiled kids of powerful people, man…There’s no reasoning with them. It’s a real catch 666 for us righteous ones. Vote in the antichrist and get the rapture and eternal bliss now! Today! OR vote in the old Lego man and his perky yet untrained lapdog and deal with this bullshit for another few years. Fuck. It almost makes me not want to be stupid anymore. Almost.
I hated work yesterday and it made me sick. When I got home the baby was already asleep. The cubs lost. The guy with the sideways eyes seemed to win the debate pretty handily over the decent looking version of Roseanne at her craziest. I fell asleep at ten. I’m really living the dream over here, everyone. Livin the dream.
Speaking of dreams, I had a dream that I was running for president or at least some sort of important office and for some reason the way I listed off the ingredients in a good bloody mary (Guinness, Absolut Pepar, horseradish, A1, Worchester, tobasco, pepper, celery salt, red pepper (like the flakes you put on pizza) a little bit of a different, much more flavorful Louisiana hot sauce like Cajun Chef or Crystal, and of course, some mix…mrs. T’s works great, but just plain tomato juice works in a pinch too.) was the key factor in if I’d be elected. Pretty interesting, right? I did this to prove a point. Listening to someone else’s dreams (nocturnal thoughts, not hopes for the future) is NEVER interesting. Telling someone else about your dream might be fun for you, but whoever you’re talking to is not paying attention unless the dream involves you fucking them senseless or killing them, and these dreams are almost always better left untold.
So you just had a dream that you were hanging out with Julius Ceaser, but it wasn’t actually him, it was actually Mr. Johaness from biology…Oh, that’s right, you had a different bio teacher, well anyway we were rowing in like a hallway, but it wasn’t really a boat, it was like a dish, like a huge dog dish and he says….See? It sucks. So, in the same way that George Costanza got us all to think twice about double dipping chips, I’d like to take this opportunity to throw out a new suggestion for improving society. Shut up about your dreams.
My mom is taking her grandson for the evening, which means that we’ve got a real opportunity tonight to go out and get loose. Drink beers, hire transsexual prostitutes to slap us around, pay the homeless to suck each other off, blow lines off boners down at Sidetracks (a gay mecca, for those of you not from Chicago, and also a really nice bar. If you’re not a total pansy (wait, that kind of came out wrong…if you ARE a total pansy, or you’re just not the kind of insecure nutsack that gets creeped out around gay people), you should check it out. It, like everything gay in the Midwest is located on Halstead. Anyway, yeah, we COULD do that stuff, but I don’t know if it’s in the cards. I have a big rock show next week…a week from today in fact. My band is playing at the HOB Chicago. It’s one of the only shows we’re doing all year. In fact, it will have been 364 days since we last played our hometown. I’d really like the show to do well, so tell your friends to go. I promise a little Bad Sandwich Live between tunes.
Oh, and that leads me to my final point for the day. If you, like so many thousands of rabid BSC readers out there would love a bound edition of my dickjokes, stories about creepy friends of mine, and ill informed political commentary, well, fuck, start telling your friends to come here and read this shit. I will need web traffic to thrive, and as such, I can’t do it alone. I know, this is free already and there’s no need to take it to the next level, but um…I don’t do updates on the weekends, right? So you could read a book on the weekends. I’m just saying, if you’ve chuckled at the story about the poor girl getting the abortion or brought the word assmask into your everyday lexicon, give back. I’m like PBS and this is the telethon. Or you could just all start sending me money/nude pics. Either way works for me. Okay fuckos, off to the mines. See you in the funny papers.