I am completely bummed that this blog will never have as many crowd-pleasing gross-out yarns as the paper memoir Harrogate has started recently, which has an entry that begins "Went to the pub with the usual crowd and was telling them about the time I shat myself at work" and ends with him soiling himself for a second time in the car. I mean, I thought the fact that I just got back from a festival which I went to free courtesy of the Flaming Lips was pretty fucking cool, but then Chris pulls out yet more fecal folklore concerning a girl he brought home last night who wreaked havok on his white sheets and it completley harshed my anecdotal vibe. Jesus fuck, do people just have minimal bowel control now? Or do they do it to make a good diary entry?
Like you even care about my Flaming Lips stories anyway. Jerk.