On C.H.U.D, David Mamet, and Mashed Potatoes Believe it or not, I actually had something to go along with this title. Unfortunately that was 24 hours ago. Before I decided (against my better judgment) that it would be a great idea to go out to a show. Before I got kind of drunk and decided that it would be ok to stay out until the wee hours of the morning drinking even more. Now I'm struggling to keep my eyes open while figuring out a diplomatic way to tell an editor that they're a fucking dumbass. C.H.U.D? David Mamet? Mashed Potatoes? All are now a distant memory, a mishmash of sewer dwelling, copious swearing, and stiffly written monologues about the essential nature of the russet potato. I swear to God it was funny as hell last night. Oh well, what are ya' gonna do?
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