So hey if your first question this sunny Monday morning is Hey Anso, how was your Saturday night? then the answer is Well, after taking in a few minutes of Showgirls edited for TV, I proceeded to wrestle furniture all over my goddamn place in a vain attempt to get the fucking couch close enough to the fucking TV to actually make out which one's Kobe. OK if you're creeped out by the words make out and Kobe so close together, it gets much better, friend. I then poured a few drinks, overdosed on my girlfriend's answer tone (C-rap omg kill me), and screamed silently for an hour or two. Next, an interlude with oreos. And while details are sketchy at this time, evidence indicates that I then may have enjoyed internet video of a naughty school girl begging for her strict teacher's hot load. Next weekend, maybe I'll find time to blare opera and do bench presses while weeping.

This is what Filter's Richard Patrick must've had in mind when penning the cynical but oddly beer jingle-esque "The Best Things." Stupid life.

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