And all the stars were just like little fish.

So the facial hair is gone. I just couldn’t stand it anymore—too itchy and hot. Shaved it off this morning, and I swear to god, I’m about to shave my head as well. Fuckin’ NYC in the summer. Drives me nuts! Arrrrgh!

(So this pirate walks into a bar with a steering wheel attached to his crotch. The bartender looks at him and says, “Hey pirate, there’s a steering wheel attached to your crotch.” To which the pirate replies, “Arrrrgh! It’s drivin’ me nuts!”) Ha ha. Ha. Ha ha.

Oy.

So when it comes time to escape the oppressive heat of New York in the summer, where do I decide to go? Why, the California desert of course! Brilliant. “But it’s a dry heat,” I can hear you say supportively. To which I retort, “A hundred and fifteen degrees is a hundred and fifteen fucking degrees, motherfucker! Jesus. What are you, retarded?”

Some people assert that the heat makes me irritable, but I don’t know what they’re talking about.

Anyway, I won’t leave without saying goodbye, don’t worry. I actually have lots to say between now and then, if only I could find the time to say it.