Read this post with three beers in your belly


Truly, those heels are HOTT until you factor in the factor (what factor factor?). The HIGH HEEL factor. The fact that your feet will be begging to be chopped off towards the end of the night. They will be begging for mercy. MERCY. Your little toe will plan a coup because really, you can't work under these stressful conditions. No one should. High heels, though hott, should be banned. It should be illegal to wear anything but Birkenstocks (socks optional). If I am ever elected major or legislator or some powerful slot in the government, I will make it so you can only wear flat shoes and only people who've commited a crime will be strapped into some killer 6 inch heels and made to walk for hours upon unlevel ground and gravel. If you've done a really terrible crime, then I'll make you dance on gravel and unlevel ground to techno. Oh yeah, I busted out the techno card.

There comes a time when you're tired of clubs and ofcourse you come to that conclusion late at night, probably while driving and after you've had a coupleof beers, so you completely forget that you're tired of clubs until the next time when you're going back home and it's late and you've had a couple of drinks. I'm tired of clubs. I'm tired of greeting people I met once when I was 15 and having to greet them each and every time forever and ever, amen. Hi so-and-so, I can hardly recall your face, much less your name, but how the hell are you? I wish I could just cut to the crap and either not greet you or say hey, look I really don't care about you so can we just cut the bullshit and not even say hello? Yeah? Thanks, I appreciate it. Ok, not really, I'm just feeling anti-social; don't take it personally so-and-so whose face I can hardly recall and whose name even less. Also, I'm horrifically bad at names so if I keep saying hey and dude, it's because your name went out one ear and out the other. Not because I don't like you (that's only half the reason, really), but because my memory is like the size of a hamster's brain; the size of a peanut. If I meet you while out at a bar, at a club, or on the beach then the chances for remembering your name go down to 50% as I'll probably be drinking beer or some other alcoholic beverage. Again, it's not your fault, it's mine. Let's hang out some time all right? (never trust someone who says this! They don't really want to hang some time. They want to never again see your face, but when they do they'll smile and say hello and then hey, let's hang some time.).

I've decided that if I ever make a band (and what a band it would be! I can't play any instrument nor can I sing, but I am so sure I can play the cymbals. It's like clashing them! How fucking hard can it be?), we will be called the Megalomanicas. It sounds so cool. So punk. So 80's rock with a Chrissie Hynde haircut.