Six, seven, eight. We're back. Happy 2020, everybody. It's a new year. Things are only going to get better for you,

girlie. Just kidding. You were a dumb fat bitch in 2024 and you're going to be a dumb fat bitch in

2025. I'm not talking to you. I'm talking to me. Ding, ding, ding. I don't know if this is

terrible foreshadowing for the rest of my year, but this morning,

I did a pretty invasive sauna, and I go into my bathroom and I get a whiff of something.

You always smell it first.

And then I look down and I see just a little brown snail trail slithering from my closet.

Just follow the brown brick road all over my new European white oak non-insurance covered fucking floors.

Okay.

And, you know, I just, I asked Andy to watch the child, his child, for just a mere 45 minutes so I could detox,

so I could sweat, so I could live my Melissa Wood Tupperwareburg life with a Y.

Start the new year off right.

And after some further investigation, what apparently happened is Andrew is too busy watching some fucking sporting event, which I can't even, I can't even fathom that there is a sporting event for him to consume every single day of the fucking week.

Every day there is a sporting event.

And I ask you how and why.

Isn't there football season, basketball season, badminton season, wrestling season,

golf season?

Are there seasons or is it ever occurring?

Because this fucker, he's got that phone on his thigh everywhere we go consuming some fucking game.

And I look at him and I'm like, you should quit the music business and you should work at ESPN if you love it so much.

Like, why are you watching, you know, Arizona Community College basketball games instead of listening to your charisma for

day's wife, talk shit about an innocent bystander.

...