I'm a lover not a dancer

"Never before in my time at the bar or on the bench have I ever had to deal with somebody who voluntarily allowed himself to be buggered by a dog on the public highway." Judge Alistair McCallum

I made myself entirely useless with booze again last night. I woke up in my hotel spread eagled on a pile of socks and wires and ash drenched in make up looking an albino Alice Cooper wondering what happened, half blind, and so confused that it took me an hour to work out I hadn't got my contacts in, and another hour to find them. Last thing I remember was bumping into Huey from the Fun Loving Criminal in this bar with palm trees in it, and Madison and Marty disappearing. I think we had some kind of lock in, but I can't really remember. I hope I wasn't rude to anyone - I was on the back end of a lot of whiskey and no food since Wednesday, so you'll have to excuse me.

Was in the studio with Emile earlier, and saw the wrath of Kay Slay, who was all pissed off at some engineer, who had just literally fled the studio. Kay Slay is fucking massive, yo. He's like eight of me. That chain of his looked heavier than my head.

That studio's pretty ill though. They recorded Capital Punishment and DPZ's Hip-hop there, for fucks sake! Classic shit!

Hey, my cabbie earlier was a Goshdarned Indian revulutionary poetry writing intellectual badass, yo. We kicked it. Freestyling and beatboxing in the cab. It was sweet.

I still seem to have eyeliner on. I look pretty.