Yuck. Lex is not kidding about that
buttermilk shit. He's a cool guy
otherwise, but that shit is just
fuckin' gross. Weirdo. Still gets all
the chicks, though...
Lex was my nemesis in the edit
ghetto until he escaped. Now we
hang in Venice and compare
wounds. He used to have 12 dogs
and 30 cats but now he just has one
anorexic dog that loves sniffing
pockets.
to my man, lex luther aka the lexicon
of leisure: i present you with this
zinc medallion as an honorary member of
the clean plate club and current record
holder for most concurrent trains of
thought. keep it bicoastal, brother.
My favorite Lex story... Well, I don't
know if he'll put this up... Anyways,
one summer he was living in Berkeley
with some guys. I walk into his
apartment and there's like... a pound
of weed sitting in the bedroom. I
mean, we're talking like, several
plants all compressed down. Mind you,
I'm not saying the pound was his. Just
that the pound was in his apartment and
seeing that much weed was totally rad.
Lex is one of those folks who should
live in the Bay Area, but he actually
lives in LA. It makes me sad, even
though it probably doesn't make him
sad. To think of that sweet fella, all
mixed up in the dark underworld of a
big city, oh man. Come home, m'friend,
come home.
For almost ten years, Lex and I have
been showing the world how crime never
pays. Unless you do it right. Lex is a
smart motherfucker who knows his shit
when it comes to editing, aiding and
abetting, and generally doin' that
thang, you know. Makin it work. He's
always better dressed than anyone, and
will continue to be one of the only
people that hasn't annoyed me somehow,
sooner or later. I think there's a
special Lex-aura which soothes the
discontent in our unquiet souls. We've
been fighting SARS for years, up and
down the back alleys of the whore-
ridden Vegas strip, and through the
smooth metal tunnels of the fully
operational battle station lurking
behind our innocent-looking moon. What
a pal. I am also honored to be the
proud godfather of the coolest dog in
the entire world, his little Simbutt.
Watch out, Universe, Lex is comin' up.
buttermilk shit. He's a cool guy
otherwise, but that shit is just
fuckin' gross. Weirdo. Still gets all
the chicks, though...
ghetto until he escaped. Now we
hang in Venice and compare
wounds. He used to have 12 dogs
and 30 cats but now he just has one
anorexic dog that loves sniffing
pockets.
of leisure: i present you with this
zinc medallion as an honorary member of
the clean plate club and current record
holder for most concurrent trains of
thought. keep it bicoastal, brother.
know if he'll put this up... Anyways,
one summer he was living in Berkeley
with some guys. I walk into his
apartment and there's like... a pound
of weed sitting in the bedroom. I
mean, we're talking like, several
plants all compressed down. Mind you,
I'm not saying the pound was his. Just
that the pound was in his apartment and
seeing that much weed was totally rad.
live in the Bay Area, but he actually
lives in LA. It makes me sad, even
though it probably doesn't make him
sad. To think of that sweet fella, all
mixed up in the dark underworld of a
big city, oh man. Come home, m'friend,
come home.
been showing the world how crime never
pays. Unless you do it right. Lex is a
smart motherfucker who knows his shit
when it comes to editing, aiding and
abetting, and generally doin' that
thang, you know. Makin it work. He's
always better dressed than anyone, and
will continue to be one of the only
people that hasn't annoyed me somehow,
sooner or later. I think there's a
special Lex-aura which soothes the
discontent in our unquiet souls. We've
been fighting SARS for years, up and
down the back alleys of the whore-
ridden Vegas strip, and through the
smooth metal tunnels of the fully
operational battle station lurking
behind our innocent-looking moon. What
a pal. I am also honored to be the
proud godfather of the coolest dog in
the entire world, his little Simbutt.
Watch out, Universe, Lex is comin' up.