The shortest column on earth

This is going to be short, like garlic-y sex in a restaurant bathroom. Last week, le super tutu and I exorcised the mullet demon. I’ll now, hopefully not feel the need to write about mullets, marmots or Bon Jovi – the three demons of passion and paradox. I’d like to thank my guest columnist Beotcho Sinclair for finishing my column last week. I can’t have a Beotcho every week. I can, as I’ve just found out, have nachos and ho’s.

It’s not easy. I’m going to quit trying. If I can’t come up with something good to say I might as well say nothing. Sometimes I sit and try to be funny but not completely irrelevant and I just get le super tutu in a bunch and I can’t write a word.

I realize this is disheartening to those of you who have conditioned yourselves to turn to the Miracle Mile for entertainment. To you, I apologize.

Please e-mail me any ideas and check out the radio show on KPSU 1450 AM. Keep on rockin’ and don’t choke on any fried chicken bones.