I eat my feet

The filter that once kept the slush of inappropriate, ill-advised comments from leaking out of my mouth has officially broken.

I had known for some time that it was not operating at optimum levels, but it wasn't until I started actually answering questions very politely posed by reporters that I came to grasp the real severity of the situation.

The last time this happened I went on a five minute tyrade about how important bacon is to my daily existence. This time, well, I think I actually said that when I "came out" it was like someone tied a gay rocket to my back and shot me out of the closet.

I eat my feet, or I least I should eat them.

Though You'll have to wait until December, to survey for yourself the damage that hits the newstands.