September 16th, 2004


You can touch my hand for a quarter

Tonight, a friend and I volunteered at GLAAD where we were assigned the daunting task of letter folder. As we neared the bottom of the pile of 2,000 letters—yes, that's right we folded 2,000 letters—we started getting a little punchy (and a little bored), and began reading the addressees.

In my stack, whom did I see? "Whose name?" You ask.

None other than God herself: Cher.

That's right ::breathes on fist:: I folded Cher's letter. "What was her address?"

Los Angeles, CA 90048

That's right. Bitch gets her own zip code.. that's coz she 0wnz0rs.

I'm never washing this hand again. It touched the letter that will soon touch the hand of one of Cher's PAs.


In other news: Let's go rob a bank. I'm pretty sure I rubbed off any trace of my finger prints.
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