Everybody is gone. My friends Stanzi and Gustav crashed in a helicopter. My friend China spontaneously combusted in her own front yard. The newsman asked me to marry him after that second interview, but I said no.
Except that nobody is gone and Stanzi and Gustav didn’t crash, and China can’t spontaneously combust because that shit is bogus. And the newsman didn’t ask me to marry him, but I said yes.
Except I’m not sure he heard me.
Mr. Cruise is out looking for the next Mrs. Cruise. I know this because she called the house phone earlier, very apologetic, and said she’d be late for their date. She told me to give him the message. I didn’t.
China won’t answer her phone.
Gustav and Stanzi have gone somewhere else, where they belong.
I have the thirty-nine-year-old news guy’s card. It has an office number in Los Angeles. I looked up the area code of his cell number on the Internet and it’s from Ohio. I wondered why he acted so Californian. It’s because he’s from Ohio.
He looks like he’s been eating the wrong foods. He probably hasn’t had a massage in years. He has a cheesy smile and uses too much hair product. He looks unloved. We’re made for each other.
I burn and cut myself all night and then I take a saltwater bath.
Except really I go to the Hilton.