Thursday, October 5, 2006

So Ken Lay calls

And he’s like, Steve, four words: Stage. Your. Own. Death. I’ve got friends in D.C. (*cough* Cheney *cough*) who can do this for you. Use the old bad ticker routine, then a quick cremation and bingo, you’re out of the country before anyone starts getting suspicious. Tahiti is amazing, Steve. I should have done this years ago, that’s all I can say.

So Martha Stewart calls

And she goes, Steve, it’s not so bad, seriously. Here’s what you do. First day you’re in, when you go to mess hall, find the biggest, meanest, scariest bitch on the floor, the one everybody else is afraid of. Then go right up to her – don’t hesitate – and jam a fork her in her friggin eye and yank it out of her skull. Works like a charm. You’ll spend the rest of your time knitting and baking chocolate chip cookies. No hassles. Also helps if you look good in denim. Luckily I do.