So I’m watching Go, Diego, Go with Chance. I mean, I’ve watched it before but I haven’t really watched it, you know? I think that poor kid has a drug
dependency. (Diego, not Chance.) It’s really obvious he’s strung out… the wide
eyes and over-enthusiasm. (I’m familiar
with the symptoms because my parents were hippies. They had some… um… interesting friends.)  The only people I know who can “talk” to
animals are on psychotropic drugs. (Oh,
like you don’t know any!)  In fact the
whole experience watching the show is a bit Hunter S. Thompson (maybe he’s one
of the writers?) but with that modern drug twist. There’s that x-game reject “rescue” pack
flying through the air turning into shit, talking rainbows and trees, all the
touchy-feely crap. And other stuff
happening that would have sent me screaming. And all these animals that just happen to need rescuing all the time…
what are the odds of that? I think Diego
is starring as the hero in his own little delusional fantasy-land. That’s a clear cry for help. And I swear some of those animals aren’t even
real, he just made them up. 

But you know what the real clincher was for me? Those damn monkeys. How many E/acid/speed cocktails do you have
to take before you’re permanently persecuted by monkeys?

I’m thinking a lot.

The rave lifestyle is such the social faux pas now,
Diego. Time for rehab. 

  – wg

 I feel fine, man. Get off my back!