Spidla on da Roof : A Paean of Praise

This post is dedicated to my much-cherished friend Carlo Spidla, who, having hocked me way up a chinik for an update, had nerve enough (the chutzpah!) to express dissatisfaction with my latest offering.

"Noo, a better update, I've already heard that one."

Oh really!

Then I read his comment on a previous post and I realized what this was all about. Kid wanted a shout-out. Sweet, naive soul. Thinks I have a readership or something.

But ask anyone who knows me, I'm all about indulging. So, fine! Here:

I love Carlo Spidla dearly, truly do. Love him so much I had to take it upon myself to relieve him of that western-style dress shirt he lent me after I got soaked through by the rain on my way to his house. It's got these pearly buttons and silvery threads, and... just didn't suit him at all. Didn't even have to see it on him, I could tell just by how good it looks on me.

Yeah, I'd do just about anything for a friend like Carlo.

If you didn't already know, Mr. Spidla is the author of some pretty steamy stuff about ebony feet. And fake Jimmy Choo bags. But that's all in a day's work. Oh yeah, and he fiddles around with music sometimes too.

But he really doesn't need a shout-out for that. After all, he's all up in the gears of the hypemachine. Never mind, you've probably already heard that track if you read, oh I don't know, THE NATIONAL POST.

Anyway, my good friend whatshisface is one big bag of talent and I am damn proud to drop his name. Like it's hot. Because it is. Like ebony feet and replica handbags.

Plugged. What.