The Toast Of The Town

Has decided to do a little guest blogging! Just one more reason to think the West Coast Branch of Fjord is, like an albatross, really about to take off. I mean, when a fellow that's literally known as the Toast of the Town, in a town az glitzy as Los Angeles, takes a minute out of his packed social schedule to write something for our humble landmass...well, damn. It don't happen often, but I'm speechless. Without further ado...The Toast of the Town!


I like to gamble. No, no, no man, I LOVE TO GAMBLE! It’s in my nature, in my blood. Gambling to me is the search for meaning. A constant experiment using the why and why nots of this world. I mainly like to feel as if I had some control over the drama happening in front of me. The way your heart races, the nerves, the tension, the anticipation, the way time sort of stops before the outcome unveils itself in its ugly rawness. Controlled randomness almost. Shit, the excitement is almost equivalent to spluging on some midget’s girls face (but without stubby hands reaching for what I hope was a wallet).

Well, with this said, I believe I’ve reached the lowest depths of my gambling adventures. In fact, it might be the lowest. I’ve bet on almost everything: horses, bull fighting, sumo wrestling, roshambau, pissing contest, zit shooting, puking contest, dead rat throws, abortions (I was going to win that one. . .damn it), marbles. But never have I been more disgusted with myself than yesterday when I went in on . . .an Oscar pool .

Ok I was baked. It was Sunday without football. And I was doing nothing at somebody’s house. Feeble excuses, I know. To have to sit through the preshow hysterics, then an hour of award speeches was awful. I couldn’t get excited about who won or lost. Joan Rivers comments, the constant minority cams, the abysmal song interludes/bowel movements. Man, I felt I was donkey punched. I just kept looking to sky with same hopeless _expression on my face, kinda like that horrible bj for crack degradation I suffered one time. And I don’t even smoke crack. . . Brutal. . . ( I was young, broke and . . .never mind)

That sucked. Chris rock eased it up a bit by making it a bit entertaining, but I just didn’t fulfill the gambling zeal. I left half way, wanting no part of it. Left the money on the table. I cheapened my love of gambling and, in turn, myself. But I guess you have to explore what you hate before you know what you love, so I’ll chalk it up to that. The mayoral race is coming up so I have something to kept my gambling mind busy. Much like life, I going to screwed on that one either way too.

Spizz, spizz, ugh

Toast