This wold never have happened at Showbiz Pizza.

Amish goes in for one last steak and cheese.

I'm right now hearing the most vile rant on Chuck E. Cheese's, from across the cubicle:

"you've always got some kid crying in there, there's always some kid just screaming. They're crawling around the hamster wheels, trailing those tickets, so they can buy a plastic piece of shit. And the pizza, it's terrible, it's like cardboard . . ."

This wouldn't have happened at Showbiz Pizza.

So . . . we're never going to Rock Bottom again unless we pump our stomachs afterward. Because I still feel like I ate Mrs. Gates's husband.

Got an occupational research request for 'JOB TITLE: HOUSEKEEPING.'

Wow, thank God they're asking for research! Cause . . . who would know what this mysterious 'housekeeping' entails? Clean the stove, dumbass!

. . .

I have decided to do a series of paintings. In the Lift's bathroom Monday I stared at a blotchy painting and was like, "I could do that drunk." So why not?! Three canvases, that I will only work on when a) extremely tired, b) extremely drunk, or c) extremely wired. And we'll see what happens. We'll just see.