Ere the night is through
◊ Russ Meyer is the latest of this year's celebrity deaths. I like to think that he's in a heaven stocked with millions of the large, naked breasts he loved so much.
I got a kind of hand lotion from Target today that smells kind of like potpourri. Sexy potpourri, but potpourri nonetheless. Now I cannot stop smelling my hands and expecting bowls of scented dried flowers and wood chips to follow me around, hopelessly turned on by the scent, making lascivious comments and whistling and honking the horns of their tiny potpourri cars at me.