First Drafts And More Scotch

10:15 – Watching, drinking, and working. It needs to be done. I do need to get another draft to the Big Man by tomorrow noon. There’s no “or else.” It’s just a self imposed deadline. He seems to be going back to the “Clash of Personalities” that he was at a couple of years ago, but I think he knows that I’ve got a lot of sh*t on my plate and that my sh*t becomes other people’s sh*t if I quit, causing those people to quit, and then HE inherits the sh*t. Eww, third-hand sh*t.

On AI, Paula is back off her meds. She cried at Elliot’s crappy ass song. Pickler just pissed me off and made my ears bleed. What ever happened to the weird fake reality show where the father is a record producer who kicks his spoiled kids off the cush? I forgot what it was called. The guy who “played” the father is a real record producer (I guess). Pickler has white-trash hair. Probably because she’s white trash.

Scotch is still good. And England got no mention in last night’s tribute to whiskey-producing nations because, although I’m Jewish, I use the McNulty (M’Nutty) rule: Protestant whiskey is for suckers. I still have five pages of edits to put in (I can do it).

Oh, why does everyone at work get all up in a tizzy about my fauxhawk? No joke. I catch sh*t from neocon Long Island/Hoboken GOP assh**es about my hair. This from guys who all have the same Catholic (no offense ellenbrenna) Republican semi-feather blowback. And why do I catch crap about my French cuff shirts, pink ties, enamel links, bracelet-loose watch bands from these style impaired suburban fashion hacks? It’s called laying out your clothes ahead of time. It’s called having a sense of style.

Speaking of a sense of style…

Cue Manny… (He’s just too damned cool)