Pulling one's head from one's own ass isn't ever fun. It took me a while, and it hurt quite a bit. I cried a lot, but let's be honest, removing anything forcibly from your ass is going to cause some tears. Doing it with a broken heart makes it exponentially worse.

I know, I know, Boo-Fuckin-Hoo.

I finally figured out that if Love is going to bitch-slap me around, I'd just turn away from Her for a bit, and focus on more important things.

Like, Pimphood.

Since we're both skilled gunfighters, and had lost most of our darts, it became necessary to validate our singing and dancing skills as well as our CowboyPimpin skills by cranking up Cowboy, and letting Kid Rock tell all of CubeWorld exactly what manner of Pimps we are.

As surely as Murphy and his laws are real motherfuckers, CEOGuy cruises through Koderz Korner when I'm 'galloping' up the aisle with one hand out holding the 'reins' and the other smacking my 'pony' on the ass with my hat.

CEOGuy: Jesus, what are you doing now?

Me: Um, ridin' my pony on a cattle drive?

CoWorkerBuddy (from his cube): Wrong song, dude.

CEOGuy (confused look): Wha...?

Me: Oh, right, sorry. I'm rockin' dat bitch up and down the coast.

CEOGuy: Are you even working still?!?

CoWorkerBuddy (emerging reluctantly from his cube): We're working on the (boring-ass-too-detailed-to-explain) project.

Me (nodding in time to music): Yep, and that's why they call me a 'Cowboy' bay-buh.

CEOGuy at least laughed this time, and then wandered away muttering something about how he's never come down here again. I'm damn lucky that I'm making him oodles of money, or he'd can my ass in a heartbeat. Yeah, I said, "oodles."

ManagerGuy came out of his office and wondered loudly why two, strapping, single guys were working late on a Friday Night instead of working our CowboyPimpin skills on the fine ladies of the Denver Metro area.

While I wondered aloud why he'd use the term, "strapping" when describing us, CoWorkerBuddy told him that he'd possibly be up for it, but that I was still in the all-women-bring-nothing-but-pain stage and would make a terrible WingMan.

I told him he couldn't be more wrong, and that I have the perfect amount of angst and apathy that draws women in by the dozen. He still declined, and I went home to my dog.

I'm looking to test this Angst/Apathy theory on New Year's Eve.

Before that, this holiday season is going to suckify because I'm so fucking broke. I did find a Valu-Pack of Muppet Pez Dispensers, and everyone is just going to have to roll with it when they get their gifts from me.

"Merry Fucking Christmas, here's your Pez. Don't bitch, it could've been worse, you could've gotten Miss Piggy or Rolf or something stupid like that."

So, piss on Christmas. New Year's is going to be the bestest ever.

The Mom hooked me up with her Frequent Flyer miles, and I'm heading down south to party like a Drunk Monkey with a good friend of mine.

He's even agreed to join me in celebrating the New Year whilst donning a kilt at one of the biggest parties in his city.

I'm stoked.

We're going to be the clan-representinest, true-scotsmanninest, swanky-party-goingest, ninjas that town has ever seen.

I'm going to go find a nest in the hills chill like Flynt now, even though I don't know what the hell that last part means.