It's over a hundred degrees in New York City today, so it should go without saying that it's fucking hot. Though I rest on my laurels in my air-conditioned office building, I've hit the mid-day doldrums like a sprinter running through a barb wire fence. As such, I find that I'm unable to do my job and should request that I go home early. I'm trying to write up a review of a book my company publishes for our internal website, and dang it, if my brain didn't just up and die while I was halfway through it. Here's what I had come up with...
The I Chong
by Tommy Chong
When the police arrived on Tommy Chong's doorstep one morning, he had expected it to be a pretty cut and dry marijuana charge. He is, after all, Tommy Chong. But it turned out that the feds had arrived to arrest the mother fucker. Man, ain't that a b? Nigga done went to jail and shit, but s'allright, he wrote a book. Book backwards is koob. KOOB. Buy the book. Koob the yub. Yub yub yub. Tis a good book. S'a very good book. boooooooook. muuuuuuuuh. fargle blaringle glor shmug fazzini terererpin gorgo syztek.
In conclusion, I highly recommend this book to any and all fans.
Man, I gotta go home and go to sleep....
