My dad once told me about a dream he had about Gene Simmons. He said he dreamt he took Mom to see Kiss and they got to go backstage to meet the band. Gene looked at my mom and held out his hand, asking her, “Wanna be number 4,601?” According to Dad’s subconscious, Mom greatly obliged and left him outside the dressing room crying.
Anyway, someone posted a video of Gene Simmons having sex with some model. (If you’re into old guys having sex, you can look for it here, douchebag.) Apparently, he’s suing the company selling the tape as if he’s a future heiress whose reputation and fortune would be ruined by such a scandal.
Oh, and this is his son Nick, nickname “2,462.” He just started college, so I don’t think this “scandal” would have any effect on Gene’s status as a role model.
Finding out Gene Simmons has a leaked sex tape is like finding out about Ryan Seacrest coming out.
This is a picture of Dubai in 2012. They are planning to make the world’s tallest arch bridge that will reach 670 feet with 12 lanes of traffic. While Dubai has assloads of money to make their populations penises seem larger, I think they’re really doing it to make up for killing people with their old bridges. But that’s just me.
She couldn’t get a visa to the States, but she’s got a new set of chompers! She gets a little nervous at first, but she’s brilliant.
I went to lunch with my old neighbor today. Over burritos and Styrofoam cups of ice water, we talked about his current job. He’s a neuroscience major and wants to work in research. Right now, he is has a student worker position with a prominent local anesthesiologist’s study on the brain.
I made the mistake of asking what he does in the lab. He answered my question by telling me that he kills rats, takes out their brains and cuts them into little slices to be placed on slides. I made another mistake of asking to elaborate.
“In order to preserve the brain, we load the rats with ketamine to numb the pain. While they’re tripping balls, I put them in a vice so they don’t move while I cut them down the middle (Keep in mind, they’re still alive) and inject poison into their hearts. It was cool at first, but after a while, it gets depressing.”
I wonder if I should ask him to lunch again.
Filed under: Me
I’m trying to quit smoking. While my health beckons for abstinence from nicotine, it took a slap in the face from the plethora of overdue bills for me to finally give in. I can’t breathe and I’m broke–it’s time to quit.
I’m a professional quitter. I’ve been doing it since I was in elementary school when I quit saxophone lessons and liking school. In high school, I quit swimming, playing guitar and the student newspaper. For three years, I’ve tried to quit smoking, on and off. The most recent attempt was this past Christmas-into-New Year’s. I think that time of year has become a tradition.
I know that there’s a 90% chance that this time will be yet another one of those failed efforts, partly because I try to wean myself off of a pack rather than go cold-turkey. Weaning works for about a week. Once I’m at one a day, I relapse either from boredom or bar-dom.
We’ll see…
