July 24, 4:30 P.M. PST
Tanguay, answer the God-damn phone. Where the hell are you? I think I know what’s missing from your blog: sex. Think about it. What do people use the Internet for more than anything else? That’s right, sexual titillation. I’m talking porn, man, in every imaginable variety -- boy on boy, girl on girl, two boys and a girl, men abusing goats, women pleasuring themselves with dildos the size of baseball bats. Get the idea? Give people what they want. The Balcony is too fucking serious. Life is full of dire news, famine, war, pestilence, drought, murder, slavery, scandal, child abuse, earthquakes, tidal waves, death, death and more death. Why do you think reality TV is so popular? Because people need to escape the stifling confines of their boring lives by becoming absorbed in other people’s totally dysfunctional lives. Give up writing serious shit about serious subjects and become a porn impresario – that’s my advice. In case you’re wondering, I’m half in the bag. OK, more like three quarters. OK, three and a half. For the past hour I’ve been drinking tequila shots in the airport bar with a professional poker player. Least that’s what he claims. Weird, pint-sized guy, oversized head, small hands, very dark eyes, but a helluva drinker! Anyway, I’m in Vancouver, on my way to San Francisco and then Maui for a week of R&R. We’ll catch up when I get back. Do me a favor and stop by my house and check for squatters, particularly of the female variety. If you see a dark-haired woman who looks like a gypsy, run like hell. And remember, people want porn. Amen and good luck.
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