the pinnacle of discomfort is swinging your leg over your bicycle and mounting it with a heavy thud, only to realize that you just sat directly on your balls. the pinnacle of embarrassment is doing this on a first date. well, the pinnacle is really doing that on a first date, combined with the coughing, spluttering fit that ensues, and the rivulets of burning, faggotty tears that course your cheeks for the following fifteen minutes. that said, it's a powerful good thing i can't get a date, or i'd have been really shamed like an hour ago.

in other news, i'd been feeling a little uncomfortable about the yuppyish turn my life has been taking these last few months, what with the yoga classes and the organic herbal sleep aids and the quaint indian corner restaurants and the knitting and all, so today when dena and i went to the new gelato place on liberty, just after the counterhelp furnished me with my complementary sample of sorbetto in blood orange, i made sure to produce a protracted, evil, smoldering death fart, right there beside the marmalade and confiture tasting-station. it was so wicked of me that i had to instantly flee to the independent movie house next door and hide myself inside a theater showing of a french film with no dialogue, all about migrating birds.

BECAUSE I AM BAD TO THE BONE!!!