Paul, Paolo, Paul, Paul, Paolo

I realize Paolo Szot is the fifth Pauly-named person I've been somehow hot for. Out of those five I've been involved with three. The other one is not the Saint Paul being converted in the picture. It is, of course, Paul McCartney. Obviously. Poor Paul McCartney. I read in the Italian press that Yoko Ono is picking on him again. Stick to hawking your dead husband's cartoons, Ms. Ono. Maybe poor Mr. McCartney hasn't done anything all that good for 35 years, but helping revolutionize popular music is still a massive fuckload more than you'll ever manage, and at least he tried to write an opera while you just wail and annoy people.

My tummy hurts. I've been drinking too much.