I admit that I'm less and less forthcoming in this weblog, literally talking in code sometimes. There is truth to every story, a message in each post. I've detailed the exit of both Whitney and Mr. Bill, but I haven't mentioned my other roommate, the whore.

I got home the other night a very late, a little stoned, and totally hungry but ready for bed. Once inside my apartment I noticed something was different about the living room, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. Hm, what could it be, maybe the clothes thrown all over the floor?

Two pairs of pants, multiple sox, a t-shirt, and some shoes next to a bucket of lube. My glass table had been moved way over to the wall on the other side of the apartment, the video camera tripod was set up in the corner, and there was a wet spot on the couch.. Some freaky shit was going on in my living room last night.