'Cause I love that dirty water...Awwwwwww, Boston, you're my home.

OK... I have some ground to cover here, so stick with me.

If I'm curt with you, it's because time is a factor here. I think fast, I talk fast, and I need you guys to act fast if you want to get out of this. So, pretty please, with sugar on top, clean the fucking car.

Have you seen this? It is the age-old story of the meth addict who became depressed and tried to commit suicide with a nail gun, but, um... didn't succeed. And you know the saying, "If at first you don't succeed, shoot yourself in the fucking head 12 times with a nail gun." Anybody got a prybar?

It's too bad he didn't succeed. I am sure he has a lot to offer society.
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You ain't got no problem, Jules. I'm on the motherfucker. Go back in there, chill them niggas out and wait for the Wolf who should be coming directly.

My major accomplishment for the day: I took a dump the size of a small child.

Serious.

I ran six miles later on, but that pales in comparison to this. Ten fingers, ten toes, 8 pounds of joy. He looks just like his father.

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Jules: I'll just walk the earth.
Vincent: What'cha mean walk the earth?
Jules: You know, walk the earth, meet people... get into adventures. Like Caine from "Kung Fu."

We watched the SHITTIEST movie last night, called Hide and Seek, starring Robert DeNiro, Dakota Fanning, Elizabeth Shue and Famke Janssen. It was just a clichèd piece of crap.

Predictable and it su-hucked. Big time. Don't waste your time.

Bobby D, you should be ashamed. FOR SHAME!
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Normally, both your asses would be dead as fucking fried chicken, but you happen to pull this shit while I'm in a transitional period so I don't wanna kill you, I wanna help you. But I can't give you this case, it don't belong to me. Besides, I've already been through too much shit this morning over this case to hand it over to your dumb ass.

I spoke with Bells tonight. He will be home next Friday. Hooray!

We're percolating some plans for Carp's visit. We may or may not barbecue a small Vietnamese child. I'm not really at liberty to say.

(Cannabalism... not funny? Yes it is. Lighten up, Francis.)

Hurry back, li'l buddy.

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I'm prepared to scour the the Earth for that motherfucker. If Butch goes to Indochina, I want a nigga waiting in a bowl of rice ready to pop a cap in his ass.

Latest very guilty pleasure, in a love-hate kind of way:

Blow Out and The Real Housewives of Orange County on Bravo.

A special thanks to me sainted mother for introducing me to these...these...these shows. ARRRGGGGH! I hate myself for watching it.

Just when I completely weaned myself from The Real World and any related reality challenges, showdowns, and reunions... I get sucked back into the shallow end of the self-absorption pool.

And just when you think that pool couldn't get any shallower, they drain out just a little more water.

I hate myself, and I am going to shoot myself in the head 12 times with a nail gun.

Met a girl called Lola and I took her back to my placeFeelin' guilty, feelin' scared, hidden cameras everywhereStop! Hold on. Stay in control.

Ghandi was great on the Sopranos. I am really excited about that show.

It looked like it was snowing yesterday up in the mountains... I am tempted to go hike up and snowboard down.

But I am torn in another direction, since I recently ordered some fly fishing gear, and I am antsy to go test my mettle against the wily trout.

I caught you a delicious bass.

I am getting around on my sweet Sledghammer bike these days. I pretty much had to tow Kip into town, while India is off doing stuff with my car.

This is the way things work when you crash your wife's car, and it is time for the body work.

You ride your bike, and you don't say a word. You just quietly go about your business, trying not to remind anyone that you drive a bit like Rain Man. I am one speeding ticket away from resorting to a golf cart or a Rascal as my primary mode of transportation. It's really better for everyone that way.

It's kind of fun, actually, riding around on a bike. I can get anywhere I need to go in town in about 10-20 minutes. When we drive anywhere, it is either a 5 minute drive or an hour (or more) drive... there is no in-between.

It makes me think I should ride my bike more often. And maybe chain myself to a tree, throw paint on people with fur coats, and pilot a Zodiac boat self-sacrifically (is that even a fucking word?) in front of Hummers, attempting to block them from harpooning the elusive Bozeman Minke Land Whale.

And I'm an excellent driver.