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2 for 4s up in here, baby! That's making for a POINT One Eight Three batting average for YOUR Richie Sexson who bats cleanup for YOUR Seattle Mariners. With ... um ... zero runs and zero runs ... batted in and two ... runners left on base. Way to earn that Fifteen Mil.

We got ourselves a bunch of chatty fucking Catherines here at the office today. Doesn't anybody do any WORK around here???

So anyway, I did all the shit on my list for the weekend except for two: I didn't go to Washington Square Park and I didn't go to a Sports Bar on Saturday Night. The gods were with me on that whole Sports Bar thing because I was gonna go see the Mariners take on the Yankees on TV. The only downside to this place is that it's quite the hike; plus, the Mariners ended up getting shellacked to the tune of a 7-2 score in what looked like a very boring game all around. However, since it was pouring down rain at the moment I wanted to leave the apartment, I ended up being saved from the boring game, the long walk, and the money spent on beer.

I didn't go to Washington Square Park because I was scared out of my wits.

Over the weekend, I think I watched somewhere around 7 or 8 hours worth of The Wire to finish off Season 1. Season 2 is downloading as we speak, but as of gametime today it was only at 71%, so I've got some time on my hands. But, that's neither here nor there. The point is, on this show The Wire, you've got cops busting drug dealers for selling drugs. That's the long and the short of it.

Well, my plan was to go to Washington Square Park because it's a known and prized location in lower Manhattan where one can easily score some marijuana from some shady characters. I figured that since Emily's birthday is coming up tomorrow and she and I have been talking about going to Washington Square Park and procuring some marijuana to have around whenever the whim took us for a few weeks/months now, why not take the bud by the horns for a special birthday surprise.

And then I sat around watching the Wire, growing ever wary of the possibility that there might be Five-Oh lurking about behind the tree or inside the bush waiting for an unsuspecting sucker to make the wrong proposition at the wrong time, only to pounce on me, sending me to Federal Pound-Me-In-The-Ass Prison. Suffice it to say, I don't want to be "Exploring Mountains" for any length of time, be it hours or days, so I chickened out. Instead, I'm just thinking about writing Emily a story about how I went out and tried to buy weed but instead got arrested after trying to elude the cops in a citywide footrace.

P.S. Ladies be on the alert, because my guns are feeling large and in charge and will be back to their prior Exquisite Glory in no time.