THE LAUNDROMATT

So, I was out of underwear. Actually, I've been out of underwear for about 3 days now, but it's been so damn cold, that I took my chances commando style. No sense trudging out in the snow unless I absolutely had to. Today, I absolutely had to. The Laundromatt called on this brisk Monday morning. Plus, my butt cheeks were getting a little chaffed.
Automatic was there. As always. Cranking Love is Hell Part 1. Or was it Part 2? I tried to tell him to chill on that country boy for a while. Mr Adams has 3, count them, 3 new albums coming out this year. (So says ryan-adams.com) Included in those 3 is a double album with him and the Cardinals. So, I just didn't want Automatic to over-do it. Then come June, he wouldn't be able to stand the sound of Mr. Self Destructo. But, of course, Automatic wouldn't listen. Ryan Adams, despite his keen insistence on making an ass out of himself and abusing his body, is a genius, and will never grow tired. He might kill himself first, but he will never grow tired.
So, I washed my whites. And Automatic and I caught up. For the first time in a long time. Mr Parker Posey and the tumblers whining in the background. I bitched to him about my inability to snag tickets to the 4, count them, 4 concert dates with U2 in May. And he bitched to me about public displays of child abuse and the alcoholics that cause it. Not bad for a Monday. May I never go without underwear again.