I’m listening to the Pet Shop Boys through my new, Beats headphones, all my tv shows tonight are set to record on my tv, but creatively, I’m dry as a bone.
Why?
Arguing for my independence with my trust lords has gotten really old, really fast. See, I’m like a poor man’s Brittany Spears: all my money is in a special needs trust, dispensed as need be by my Trustees: Gil Roth and Peter Johnson. Gil, I’ve been friends with since St. John’s. Peter does this for a living, & cuts me a world of always legal and ethical slack. More tomorrow. Nighty-night.
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