when you got nothing, beat the dead horse.

Ever wish you could pick who you lived next to?

If I could fill my complex with the people I wanted to live near any time you'd visit me you might catch a glimpse of Crispin Glover, the Jim Rose Circus Side Show, Chuck Norris, someone who is always cooking pretzels, a dude with a monster truck but not a mullet, a dude with a mullet that monster truck guy and I can give shit to (and run over his car... oops we didn't see you there while cruising around in this monster truck, these massive tires create some wicked large blind spots), Al Roker, Al Green, Al Franken (I seem to be stuck in some sort of creative loop), Flash Van Shatner (small claims attorney), and of course Yale President Richard Levin.

That's right, Rick. I bet you thought I forgot. There you are pretending to be so caught up in how you've been President of Yale for 15 years and sharing your thoughts on China when we all know you are really just waiting for me to post on my blog so you can give me shit. In retrospect it was probably a mistake to give you my home phone number. I can sense you stretching your dialing finger as I type this. If only there were some device I could procure that would tell me exactly who was calling when the phone rings so I could avoid another Ivy League beatdown...

But Mr. Levin, if we were neighbors you could save yourself some money in long distance charges by walking right to my door and punching me in the face. That would be awesome. Then later, after I put some ice on my nose and the swelling of my eye went down, we could stand out by fence wearing flip flops and smoking cigars while exchanging witty repartee with the good folks walking to and from the corner liquor store.

Just a thought.