Good Morning, Readers. How are you upon this sunshiny Sunday? All is well here and I'm sure you will be glad to know that my political ramblings are over, well, at least for the time being. Today I am getting back on track, back the reasons you come here in the first place, back to to the ridicules antics of my family and semi-tasteless sex jokes.
Now, as far as good, raunchy fun goes, today might as well be a freakin' holiday. No, this isn't some bullshit orchastrated by the Congress and recognized by the federal government, although it should be. This isn't going to get you out of work. Labor Day, a day set aside for day drinking and barbecues, which is right up my drunken alley, is over.
So, what is so special about today, September 7, 2008? Tune your televisions to HBO, bitches. It's time for the season premiere of Entourage.
I discovered this super cursing, super sexed gem last year during a bout with the flu. Dish Network was running one of those free HBO weekends. Now, when these little promos have come along in the past, we would just go through the tv schedule, record each and every show that we might even somehow possibly think about watching and then tell the satellite company, "Screw you, assholes. We are good for the whole year."
But, on this fateful weekend, HBO also happened to be running an Entourage marathon. Lyndi had tried to get us started on the show before, she even brought one of those full seasons on DVD out, but we resisted, knowing full well that we didn't need another show to hold us captive.
I was weak and sick. My immune system couldn't fight off a sneeze, much less the awesomeness of Vince, Eric, Turtle, Drama and Ari.
I know this is based on a life I typically shun, the affluent, superficial influence of Hollywood. I can't help it, they say the "F" word in all the right places. And, before you email me, I know Jeremy Piven is suppose to be a prick in real life. It's not Jeremy Piven I love, it's Ari Gold. He may be a prick, but he's a funny prick.
So, if you want to talk to me this evening, call before 9. Otherwise, you might get the Entourage Shonda, the one who says stuff like, "Are you motherfuckin' kidding me? I told you not to interrupt me even if George Clooney was here to slap my ass."
I doubt I would say that.