Tuesday, January 29, 2008

The Track

Slim is going to make his fortune in gold futures. We have decided to purchase a thoroughbred racehorse and name it Cuckold Robbins. We are going out tomorrow night to celebrate the decision to do so.

Incidentally, I cut my finger pretty badly last night in an incident involving an avocado pit, my new Samurai-sword-technology chef's knife, and my own stupidity.

I was very prepared to sew the wound shut myself, and resigned to going to the hospital if I had to, but Slim administered some first-aid after rushing home from a session with a friend's band, and said it would be okay. (Apparently his arrangement did aid in transforming what had been "a plodding stoner nightmare" into, um, some other kind of song.)

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