Meet Micky Champagne!
How the hell are you?
Well, now that a thousand people have informed me that my vulgarity is their life's blood, I'll be sure to put more fucking shit like that up.
Cock, shit, ass, whore, fuck.
Speaking of which, meet my pal Micky Champagne.
I finally got him to start a diary and made him swear to high heavens to update daily. (Like I should talk)
If anybody should have a diary, it's Micky Champagne. His mind goes by like a fucking horde of Vikings. You know that thing inside your head that filters out certain things between thought and expression? Well, Micky doesn't have one. I just read what he wrote today and almost pissed myself. He's fucking cursing out Bob Dylan, the awful bastard! I don't know if he can come across as outrageous as he is in person. You might get lost in his words without knowing the man. But when you do know the man.....he's a fucking riot! More like a trainwreck/person. He's Trainwreckman.
I've known Mick for about 7 or 8 years. We hit it off big time right from the get go. At the time he was working at Borders and I use to frequent the place a lot (still do!) Mick stood out like a nun at a whorehouse. He wore these goofy red clown shoes. He was also known for wearing an Eric Clapton shirt that he decorated with dollar signs and upside down crosses on Senior Slowhand's forehead. This guy was such a trip just to look at. And his car! He had all these AA bumper stickers (and one Alice Donut!) all over, not just on the rear either. ALL OVER THE DAMN CAR!!! HA!!!
Well, to fill in the next eight years in a few short sentences. I made a bee line towards this guy. We became best buddies and remain so. We've been roomies for awhile and now he lives in Boston, persuing his Rock n' Roll dream.
God Bless this idiot.
Well, enough of a plug for his diary. I made a banner for him below. It was kinda stupid plugging my diary on a banner that was located ON my diary, where you click on it and it brings you to where you already are.
I think I'm growing a brain!