No Place Like Home

2002-04-07 - 1:14 a.m.

Reasons to go out:

1) Macking fly bitches

2) Drinkin' like Lincoln

3) Seeing your best mates

4) Dancin' dancin' dancin' I'm a dancin' machine!

5) Music:Response

6) Boobies

Reasons why my living room is as far out as I like going:

1) I have a fly bitch

2) $13 gets me 12 times as much beer in my fridge than what I'd get in a bar

3) I live with my best mates

4) I'm not a dancin' machine, and, frankly, neither are you, so sit your ass down Fritz

5) 500+ cd's, 60 disc changer, mp3 download capability, and I get to hear what I want to hear

6) Looking at boobies sucks. It's like looking at a steak when you're starving. It's like drinking decaf. It's like wishing upon a star that's really just an airplane or satellite. It's like reading braille without using your fingers. It's like living in suburban USA.

Yeah, I'm an old fuddy duddy. Call me anti-social. Call me reclusive. Call me Al. I know where I'm comfortable. I've worked hard to have a nice home, and dammit, I like being there.

If I felt the need to subject myself to expensive beverage intake in the company of dime-a-dozen Ken and Barbies wearing over-priced khakis or halter tops, talking loudly into cell phones above the same Rolling Stones song they paid a quarter to hear every other night, I'd buy that Spring Break Girls Gone "Wild" tape for $9.99.

So you can keep your meat market, your sausage fest, your glitter and vinyl pants, your jukebox, your cover charge, your maximum occupancy, your bad lighting, your piss covered toilet seats, your trite opinions, your trophy significant other that you only pay attention to if you notice someone else paying attention to them too.

I like my couch, I like sock feet, I like remote control, no lines for the pisser, no tipping necessary. I like a 15 foot commute to bed, blankets, cable, stoned ramblings with old friends, fireplaces, carpeting, front porches, and opening my own beer.

Basically I like having a house that feels like home.