8:37 p.m. - 2002-01-31
I don't know how to spell Gweneth's last name.
Last night I went and saw The Royal Tenenbaumes. It's that movie with Ben Stiller, Gweneth P., the dude from that stupid movie about the guys that video tape their murders who punches Fraiser Crane in the beak at the end of it, and a bunch of other people. I liked it.

It was a comedy, but it really gets you to think. It made me contemplate my own childhood and how much better my life might have turned out if my parents had adopted some fine chicks.

Thanks Mom and Pop. Thanks a heap.

My little stint of free time is almost up. Come Monday I'll be starting my new hobby as sales/production assistant. I was looking over the job description and such. Should be fun! Also I found out that I get full dental and medical benefits. You know what that means.

GOLD FRONTS!

I also decided to take my pimp's advice and look into getting myself a Rascal Personal Scooter to cruise around in a la old folks. At first I thought I'd buy one for myself, as a retirement gift, but then I found out that they cost between $2,000 and $6,000 and that's the sticker price before the rims and beat and handle bar streamers and side car and after market Mack truck horn. My accountant (little deposit slip that get's spit out of the ATM) say's I can't afford that on my budget.

Luckily I have noticed that the Rascal Personal Scooter commercial campaign is touting a contest where the grand prize winner receives not only their very own Rascal Personal Scooter, but the opportunity to star in an upcoming add.

Man, I'd make a much better spokesman than all of the fogies they have now with the "Here's my Rascal!" and the manufactured smiles.

I'm talking choreography, shiny P Diddy suits, 'splosions, sex scenes, gold teef�I'd sell a million of the things for them.

This time next year, if all goes well, I'll be rollin' my Rizzascle Scootpiece and sportin' the ill gold fronts a bonnefied TV star, yo!

Co maxin'.

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