Song Of The Day: Harpies Bizarre / Elvis Costello
Word Of The Day: Snoach / To speak through the nose

I want to go to France. Learn to speak French. The thought of French kissing makes me feel like I have French bread in my leotard. I've never been to France, but I sense an affinity with its populace. The cool remove, the deification of food and art. Because food, my friends, is not art. Nor is its preparation, nor its presentation, and however refined the palate, it's just a necessary EVIL. I mean, how fucking gross is it that we put matter in a hole in our head and mash it into bits, then pass it through the mucoid membrane of our g.i. tract until we produce a cylindrical sculpture of fetid waste from the least inventive musculature of our body? That's where the French and I part ways. I have always said, "Food is proto-poop." Sorry. At any rate, I imagine the French do not like Eddie Money. And I mean I bet they don't like HIM. They hate his music, that's a given, but the French are just the kind of people to expand an artistic grievance to include the person, the source. I bet the French feel a bad work of art is synonymous with a bad human being. That's hard on French artists, and probably hard on Eddie Money. I love to generalize about the French, which one must do, especially when speaking French, as it contains a paucity of 100,000 words. English? Almost a million, depending who you ask. Ask me. It's a million. I like an even number (remainders are naught but numeric clutter) and while 100,000 is a nice even number, it is precisely one-tenth as good as 1,000,000. English, you're winning, and with a lead like that, you might as well treat yourself to some booze and a whore. The French don't have many words to choose from, but those intended for Eddie Money are not flattering. They hate the Money, but they LOVE the Great Dane. I am fucking Jacques Brel times Jerry Lewis over there, friends. What's that worth? For starters, I could be the bridge between Money and France. I've slept with both, prefered neither. That's right, Eddie hates the French, but that little piggy's snout is no stranger to my truffles. Me: "Listen, Parisians, give Eddie a chance. He's got no control. He's like the Marquis De Sade of Akron, Ohio. Listen, Eddie, give the Louvre a chance, it's like a church of art or somethun.