I’m going to get my passport this week because I decided I pretty much need to get the fuck out of Montreal for a little while and see some new shit. Jesus being on vacation has really pissed me off, and looking back on it now, I probably should have suffocated him with a pillow in his sleep and gone on that god damned cruise myself.

The only problem being is unlike Fatass, I don’t have a fat wife who won a cruise at the supermarket, and I have no money for a plane ticket and no idea where I would go, but I figure having a passport is the first step in the right direction. That way if I’m out drunk and meet an old, good looking millionaire who wants to take me away, I can do. Although I will doubt I’ll meet one because the bars I hang out with are generally pretty seedy and the only old men who come in are poor homeless ones who want to use the restroom.

I had to get some friends to be people who confirm my identity and shit, and we had to make up big stories about how we knew each other because one of them is a guy I use for sex periodically and the other is a bar friend who I usually don’t hang out with unless I’m up at 9am doing large amounts of blow. Somehow I didn’t think the passport office would be to into that you know?

Here’s all that is the glory of Emily Scott. If I can find a way to look as good as her, my vacation courtesy of a rich old man is as good as mine.

Note: I’m glad that above the ass tattoo isn’t real because Tramp Stamps are for poser chicks who can’t think for themselves.

hugs and kisses
Marie-Eve Martinez

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