Bitch Kitty Racing

Getting dumped is a nightmare!

John Moroney gets e-dumped and describes: how men survive the horror of an unexpected breakup, the humiliation of incessant phone checking, and drunk-dialing the ex.

Brought to you by Bitch Kitty Records and Springman Records.

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Sorry, dudes! I, like, totally forgot to tell you I’m going on a short vacation! I’m out in the wilderness fighting bears and rabbits, sleeping on dirt, neither shaving nor bathing, roasting hot dogs made from buffalo I killed myself over coals made from buffalo manure I collected myself, chopping down entire forests with my kill-or-be-stung karate chops to make funeral pyres for the spirit of my stress level, fording rivers of BLOOD, chilling the fuck out (yo!), swimming entire oceans with killer whales and sharks as my guides, and grooving the fuck OUT to The Fall on my wife’s already-broken iPhone 3G!

Did you know the 3G has a glass faceplate? And that when it breaks, it inserts nasty little kitten-teeth slivers under your fingernails? And that it can pick up a signal in Wyoming buffalo fields?

I’ll be back on Wednesday next week but, as you can see, I’m missing you already!

Remember the revolution! VIVA AMERICA!

Love your faces off!

Sent from my wife’s iPhone 3G, which I am now going to TURN OFF

As the American Empire quickly crumbles, almost wholly due to the liars and thieves currently running our government (FREE HINCKLEY!), we must remember the words of the person who said, “Blaming George Bush for the ills of America is like blaming Mickey Mouse when Disney screws up.”

Let us also remember King George III, the king who lost America. King George was ill (either with syphilis or “porphyry,” which is, in fact, a kind of rock), and his illness led to bouts of insanity. This insanity, it is said, incapacitated him during the events leading to the American Revolutionary War and, it is also said, is the reason the Americans were successful in their fight for independence, i.e., George was unable to make the correct political decisions necessary to keep his empire whole.

The wife and I went swimming yesterday evening, perhaps for one of the last time in the Summer. A swim in these Northern waters creates a mighty hunger, and what better way to spend on Sunday night than in the kitchen? And what better way to consume Sunday dinner than curled up on the couch with a horror movie?

We brought home 30 Days of Night. Vampires, blood, gore, darkness . . . What could be better?

It’s weird, this odd sense of depression when I come home at three in the morning and wait to see the dawn. It’s not coming as early anymore. In Seattle, that means Winer is rapidly approaching. Yes, we do get Fall here, but it’s only marked by Halloween; then the rains come. One night of every woman in sight dressed in a slutty costume and me as a dead thing, then nine months of rain interlaced with four months of darkness. I only feel the “Hurry up! Hurry up!” of the ant and the grasshopper fable—I need to enjoy Summer.

But, damn! It’s already over!

I don’t care that it’s an Audi; I just came so hard my spine tickled my urethra.