There was a reason why his e-mail was down (and it was in fact down, as in "nonexistent down"): Over Labor Day weekend, the crackhead down the street broke into his crib and ripped off his DVD player, his e-mail apparatus and several treasured autographed photos of sports icons he had hanging up. He knew it was the crackhead down the street because said crackhead had already broken into his landlord's crib upstairs and horked shit from him, so after the cops left, he devised a plan. And that plan included a baseball bat.

No, no, he didn't beat the crackhead with the baseball bat. But he DID carry the baseball bat with him every time he left his crib, whether it was to and from the car going to work or taking his dog out for her constitutional in the front yard. He went out there, bat in hand, and stared at the crackhead's house. Now, when he ran into the crackhead, he did threaten to take the bat upside the crackhead's skull if he ever comes near the crib again, but the psychological initimidation part!?!?! Ooooh, baby (shudders).

Yeah, I like my men a little edgy. Speaking of which, anyone catch Boston Legal Sunday? Two words: James. Spader. What a fucking STUD. Reminds me of the deputy prosecutor I dated six years ago. Swoon. Of course, he was a big-time alcoholic and it ultimately would've never worked between us for that reason, but oh, the possibilities ... Desperate Housewives was pretty good, too, especially Felicity Huffman, but she always rocks.

Oh, and btw, the Cubs? Suck. But we had a good time at the game, even if we partied only as "minor starlets" instead of rock stars. No guacamole, either.
Oh, whatEVER.