"Gimme a Taste of Your Kitty"

Hair Band Friday is absurdly tawdry today. Upon hearing that I am able to compose formal motions in a satisfactory manner, Doris assured me that if I were able to write a demurrer in less than a fortnight, she would expose to me a portion of her undergarments, an unusual admission for the normally coy Doris. Perhaps it was the dram of absinthe she consumed. Or perhaps it was the last three incantations emanating from the Victrola: "Kissin' Kitty" by Bulletboys, "Cumin' Atcha Live" by Tesla, and "Talk Dirty to Me" by Poison. Whilst Doris was contemplating a demurrer, Esther and Florence had been sharing an herbal jazz cigarette, which I have since been informed was comprised in whole or in part of marihuana. Their inhibitions relaxed, they both scurried to the top of a table to perform the Charleston! As if that was not enough to invoke feelings of exhiliration, Millicent, who had earlier shared a quantity of ether with me, quietly informed me, in a vernacular normally unbecoming of a proper woman, that she would like retire to boarding room with me so that she might loosen her corset to allow me to view and caress her bountiful bosom. Although I am nearly in hysterics, I plan to oblige, though I shall try not to let Millicent become aware of my exhuberant state of mind.

Just when you thought there was hope for humanity and that maybe humans are inherently good rather than inherently evil, you come across a story like this: a 15-year-old boy's prosthetic leg was used by a group of rapscallions to beat up the kid's friend, while the kid stood (or, more likely, hopped) there helplessly watching. In case you haven't heard about this, here are the details. Dominic Choate (hereinafter "DC") lost his leg 3 years ago from the knee down and has had to wear a prosthetic leg. Sunday night, DC and two friends were shooting some hoops outside DC's Burbank, Illinois residence when a car drove by and nearly hit one of his friends. DC and crew yelled at the car to slow down. The car drove backwards, 6 guys got out (speaking Polish, according to DC, which I assume means that they were driving backwards the entire time) and proceeded to beat the piss out of DC's friends. In an effort to get these street toughs to leave, DC took off his prosthetic leg, hoping they would show some mercy. In retrospect, this was a bad move. Apparently not believing that the 6 of them could take three teenagers (one of whom was completely unable to get any footing to stand his ground), the hoods used the prosthetic leg to beat one of DC's friends unconscious. Beating someone up with a 15-year-old's prosthetic leg. Unfuckingbelievable. I saw a bit on the local NBC news about this last night. I guess DC's insurance will pay for a new leg only once every 5-10 years. Now, I'm not one for vigilante justice -- wait a minute, yes I am. Someone needs to find these six cowards and hang them from their scrotums, assuming they have scrotums. And while they are hanging in this most painful manner, DC and his friends will have the opportunity to chop off each one's leg below the knee and then beat them into unconsciousness with the severed limb. Only then will there be peace and justice.

On a lighter note, I'm legitimately excited about the upcoming (8/18) release of "Snakes on a Plane," which I believe to be the greatest title for a movie in the history of cinema.

For you French nationals, expats, or descendants, Joyeux Jour de La Bastille!! Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité!! Fuck Louis XVI and his lettres de cachet!! I was in Paris for the 200th anniversary, and I plan on being there for the 300th. Yes, Holt, when I'm nearly 112.