Putting together a pitch for a leading laundry detergent.
From a consumer message board:
Please, please, please USE BLEACH on your underwear. Think of how gross it is to put underwear back on that is NOT DISINFECTED. You can only disinfect with BLEACH. 
Have you seen my shit? I lost it. At the T.I. concert last night.
I thought the best I could hope for was a guest appearance by R. Kelly. Possibly 50 Cent. Maaaaybe. If I'm lucky.
I wasn't counting on 50, Diddy, Kanye, and Jay motherfucking Z showing up as surprise guests and taking the stage AT THE SAME GODDAMN TIME.
It was so good it got a little scary. When Jay-Z came on people started screaming HO-VA! HO-VA! and making the special Hova sign. It reminded me of a Benny Hinn taping or a wartime propaganda reel or that scene in the Indiana Jones movie where they're about to do a human sacrifice.
Easily one of the best concerts I've been to. With the exception of Ciara. She really needs to shut the fuck up. Yeah, she's beautiful and can sing and dance but her performance was so safe and over-produced, like something you'd see on Disney Kids or Nickelodeon. Before she came on the promoters had to break the huge paper strip spanning the arena that said "Sanitized for Your Protection."
The girls behind me held no truck with her either. They kept going AHN-NEE-WAY! AHN-NEE-WAY! in dismissal, something other people imitate but only black females can properly do.
no, i cannot.
i have things to promo and i ate lunch at the times square red lobstah. i had a shipwreck mary and a plateful of butter.
my friend stephen is doing this thing for delta called the siteseer challenge.
go here and vote for him. it's kind of a pain in the ass b/c you have to watch all 4 videos.
the good part is you can just minimize and have it playing in the background. until his video comes on. then it's PARTY CENTRAL.
I'm going to be one of 8 bloggers competing in an Internet gong show type deal at Joe's Pub.
It's called ROFL! and it's being put on by The Onion and Paper Thin Walls.
Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying:
And this same flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow will be dying.
The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
The higher he's a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he's to setting.
That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times still succeed the former.
Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while ye may, go marry:
For having lost but once your prime,
You may for ever tarry. 
you were the stunningly beautiful wife of a powerful fictional drug lord and lived a life of excess and luxury? then, just when everything falls to shit, you escape to your loving family back East just as hubby gets shot to death and leaves you with piles and piles of drug money?
Today's my New Yorkiversary. Five years since I flew in wearing new clothes I didn't know I hadn't removed the price tag from until I landed in JFK and some nice lady told me.
I remember thinking my sister was rude for not meeting me at the airport. Now I know cabs are reserved for when you've mixed wine with margaritas, Jack Daniels, and ice cream sundaes, late for a job interview, or have a baby well on its way out your cervix.
I wish I could go out for a drink. Celebrate. But I have an article to write and by the time I'm done everyone I know will be in bed. There are one or two people I *could* call but I'm trying not to call those people because I get into trouble when I hang around those people and I no longer want to party like the old days. You know. The old days. When we all wore petticoats and got drunk on fermented canned goods.
Instead I got some birthday candles out of the kitchen cabinet, lit 5 + 1 to-grow-on off the stove burner and sang a little ditty that went something like this:
Whoever says Times Square sucks hasn't ever been to Jimmy's Corner, 44th between 6th and Broadway. Ask for Mickie.
