I finally made it to Texas after a million delays and unfortunately I didn’t score any street meth like I hoped I would. But some drunken trick in torn jean coochie cutters and a midriff outside of my hotel told me I looked like a “white Bruno Mars” so that was pretty much the only mind altering fuckery I needed this morning. And on to more mind altering fuckery, below is my liveblog of the Royal Wedding Spectacular Extravaganzzzzzz(emphases on the “zzzz”)a with The Morton Report. I can’t promise that I won’t pass out in a puddle of my own slobber and start morningdreaming about skipping through my own saliva pools with Prince Hot Ginge and that wedding cake-wearing puppy. Actually, that sounds better.
But I’ll try my best to NOT do that. My own royal wedding drinking game should help with that. Every time The Queen starts open mouth snoring or PHG throws a “Where is the open bar?” look, I’ll take a shot of the complimentary facial cleanser in the bathroom (there’s no suitable booze in this joint). Now on to this mess (my ass is watching NBC, by the way)!