ive got a pretty mellow job. everyone's mellow. there seems to be almost no advancement so there's no competetion. the work is challenging to a point, but simple, and you get to learn about interesting people and watch models in skimpy clothes.

i dont drive. thats gotta add a few years to your life. not because of car accidents or road rage or anything, but just the general stress out there. i pretty much love people mighty deeply. but on the road i hate everyone. if im driving, that is. i think secretely, i wish they would all pull over and let me speed by. they never do.

if in heaven im a door guy at a swanky dance club, if i find out some guy drove slow in the fast lane on earth, he's not getting in.

the agency pays for half my rent as an inticement to break up with the director's young daughter, in which they'd pay even more of it. and i have to say, money talks. ive got an expensive pad.

when i come home, i make a well-rounded meal and drink fruit drinks and purified water.

and then i watch baseball for 6-8 hours on television.

the only stress in life should be in deciding how many fingers to put into a girl the first time she lets you reach in her pants.

people stay at jobs that they dont like. they kiss girls who want to fight. they go on vacation and wear sweaters tied across their waists.

i was stressed out a little yesterday when i was deciding whether to buy the dreyers thin mint girl scout cookie ice cream, or ben n jerry's on sale for two bucks a pint cookie dough. i settled for godiva chocolate.

it's just going on pie.

the agents didnt buy it.

that's bullshit, sonny, we know what youre up to. and what's this!

they threw down an 8 by 10 glossy of me getting out of my flying car with my dry cleaning.

oh i just use that on the weekends. i cant even afford the insurance on that thing.

you're flying without insurance?!

i barely use it.

what i loved about the one guy was even though he had a tape recorder on the table, and even though the room was theirs, and fully miked, he would still take notes and glare at me silently.

ocassionally he'd drop his writing hand as if he lost all control of it and stare at me with mouth wide-open like he had never heard of such a thing in all of his days.

i wanted to make some shit up just for him, but i couldnt think of anything good.