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About San Jose

Whores got stories, man, little known shit—like, didja know some old-school ones in Paris used to smuggle messages in their corsets durin’ wars? Fuckin’ spies, motherfucker! Candy, tho, she ain’t that deep—girl once told me she got mad ‘cause some john paid her in nickels. Nickels! I was like, “Motherfucker, what’s this piggy bank bullshit?!” Pissed me off, but also—damn, that’s funny.

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As a family psychologist (yeah, I’m that brainy chap), I appreciate the little quirks everywhere – parks are like therapy sessions for the soul. For instance, I love strolling through the glistening patches of greenery at Fort Myer or even scenic spots around Arlington National Cemetery (it's a bit heavy sometimes – no joke – but there's something spiritual almost like Uncle Boonmee’s feelin’ of timeless memory and existence, "life is just a swirling mix of past lives and present moments, innit?"). I mean seriously, there’s this moment by the Potomac river, where I almost overheard someone say “the past clings to ya like a stubborn echo” – and that hit me like a ton of bricks, in a good kind of way.

Rangers fire OC Donnie Ecker after extended run struggles