Pictures of Lily have altered my brain.

I was watching a movie based on a semi-autobiographical novel by Charles Bukowski. It starred Matt Dillon as the semi-autobiographical Charles Bukowski, and Lily Taylor as his fuck interest, and really, the only thing harder on the eyes than Lily Taylor/semi-autobiographical Charles Bukowski's love interest walking around drunk in her dirty bra and panties was a drunk Matt Dillon/semi-autobiographical Charles Bukowski fucking a drunk Lily Taylor/semi-autobiographical Charles Bukowski's love interest in her dirty bra and panties, and yes, Lily Taylor is a fine actress, but her best work has always been fully clothed, and I guess the reason I turned the movie off after about twenty minutes was because neither Matt Dillon as the semi-autobiographical Charles Bukowski, or Lily Taylor as his fuck interest could convince me that they weren't Matt Dillon and Lily Taylor trying to be the semi-autobiographical Charles Bukowski and his fuck interest, and to be frank, I always found Bukowski's life more interesting than his writing even though his writing is mostly his life, but hey, that's just me writing about my life ... semi-autobiographically speaking, I guess, and if you get confused with all the semi-autobiographical stuff midway through the post, join the club, the club that has no dues, except time, which I have about an hour less of after writing this snippet from my life, but hey, it's been great.