Bumming

I had a terrible experience last week and surprisingly it had nothing to do with getting my eyeballs cut by a laser knife. That whole thing is great, my vision is tremendous and I look just super. No, the bad occurence was my hard drive committing suicide on my laptop. Not giving a shit about technology at all at first I saw it as an inconvenience but as I think more and more about what was on there I get increasingly depressed about it.

First off I lost all the stuff I have ever written for this blog which isn’t THAT big a deal as I can go through and cut and paste all the crap off the site and save it again. A pain but doable. I lost lots of other stuff I have written for On Tap, lyrics, general stuff for the amorphous book,,,I can rewrite or try to remember all of that. My brain still works so that can all be regenerated (I hope).

I lost my iTunes and have to go figure out how to get the shit from the iPod to the computer instead of the other way around. I’m sure that’s doable as well.

The absolute worst is that I lost my picture gallery with a year’s worth of stuff from the digital camera and that has me twitchy with sadness. A year’s worth of images that I can’t recover, of the wee child going from swaddled infancy to a walking blabbering fun machine…gone. A year where the elder darling child went from little kid to not so little kid….gone. I can get a bunch of stuff from my parents and other folks who snapped photos of our beautiful selves but there is just so much stuff lost, it totally sucks.

I’m sad.

If any of you are thinking of leaving a comment about how I should have backed everything up feel free to burn in hell.

It does cheer me up to hear that Jack Abramhoff is going to cut a plea deal and send DeLay and Ney down the river. That’s great news. The NSA spying thing is about the least surprising big news story I can imagine. Is there anyone out there that still thinks the POTUS and his crew have any thought whether they can do whatever the fuck they want regardless of inconveniences like laws?

This entry sucks but I’m too depressed to be entertaining. I’m as sad as John Gibson is stupid and Bill O’Reilly is…well…stupid.

You may fire when ready

In just about two hours I will be getting lasers shot into my eyeballs so that I can achieve wholly unheard of levels of attractiveness by never having to wear full-time eyeglassess again.

I just can't wait till the doctor asks if I'm all set so I can look at him and in a fantastic Grand Moff Tarkin voice intone -

YOU MAY FIRE WHEN READY!!!

After that it's sit back, get sexy and head home to ingest prescription painkillers.

Wiping Bill Kirchen's ass

I’m not exactly sure what precipitated the fiasco but out of the blue Drunky the Clown was yelling and screaming about how Bill Kirchen and Tom Principato are the two best guitarists in Washington, D.C. and how I was the embodiment of all the disrespectful punks not fit to wipe the asses of these esteemed guitar twangers.

What the fuck you say?

To set the scene I was up at the idiots bar to watch the Redskins game with my friend Marucs Aurelias. We were all at the bar....me, Marc, Scotty, Slim, the Busdriver, Anthony Quinn, Dumb Jack, Massage Parlor Vinne and a few others including the heretofore never seen by me (amazingly) Drunky the Clown. The bar itself is about 25 seats long and Drunky the Clown was at the far right end facing the Alex the bartender and I was halfway down square in front of the TV set (having wiled my way to the Pole Position for watching the game as was my purpose for being there in the first place). As Drunky was yelling Alex asked my opinion about Tom and Bill and if I knew them. I said I had met them both and opined as it comes to being THE BEST that I think they're great (which I do and have made many trips to see both of them) but not the best I have heard in town. Simple as that.

Drunky leered down the bar and hollered, “Tell me again what you just said cuz I’m hoping I heard you wrong!!!!”

Uh-oh.

Here is my reply to Drunky in full context and if you can’t believe I was this self-effacing and polite I totally understand but I was. I simply said, "in my opinion and it's just my opinion and is no better or worse than yours I think those guys are completely and totally awesome but TO ME for the music I dig they're not THE BEST I have seen around here." Let me clarify that statement a bit because I want it to be clear that I think both Bill and Tom are astounding guitarists. I spent many evenings at the Sunset Grille nodding in pure joy when Kirchen would peel the paint off the walls. But I’m not a huge blues or blues-rock guy and never have been. So for me to say that someone is THE BEST I have to put it in the context of what is the best FOR ME. Trying to quantify that shit is idiotic anyway, another chucklehead jumped in saying Keith Richards is the best guitarist ever and you know what, if he believes who’s to say he’s wrong? Drunky the Clown obviously.

But to get back on point…………..

Somehow by the time my quiet little statement of opinion reached the ears of Drunky the yeller it had translated into me saying that I'm a better guitar player than both Bill and Tom not to mention Danny Gatton and Jimi Hendrix and that I didn't know "my place" and was disrespectful of “people who have put in their time.” I politely told him that I didn’t say anything like that, that I’m an admitted extremely limited guitarist which is why no one will ever see me attempt a guitar solo and that he was either surely deaf, way too drunk or mentally challenged or a mixture of some or all of those ingredients and besides Bill Kirchen moved to Texas so his theory was half fucked anyway.

Well I said it in a nice tone at least.

At some point during the exchange he started referring to me as Young Buck which was intended as an insult but came across like a sweet affectation for a principal character in Brokeback Mountain. Things kept going on and on and on and on with this guy and I’m just sitting there getting yelled at and laughing with my friend Marc about the idiocy of this whole situation but over time he stopped being unintentionally funny and there was a fair bit of annoyance building up not just with me but with everybody else who was still conscious (not all the patrons I assure you) and had to listen to his shit. He had a loud and awful voice, like the sound of a dumpster full of glass being emptied into a trash truck made of chalkboards and it made the skin creepy crawly as he got more progressively more drunk, angry and loud.

He had fallen backwards off his bar stool and crashed his thick head hard to the floor and from that point on went reasonably berserk with full on about to have a stroke red-face when I wouldn’t relent to his opinion. After the skull thumping and associated laughter at his expense from all his buddies it was pretty quick that he started crossing over from drunken loudmouth to aggressive lunatic.

Some choice tidbits from the latter part of the conversation…

"Who the fuck are you...what makes you so great?!?!"

"What are you...19 years old...you don't know shit about a goddamn thing you little baby!!"

“You couldn’t wipe Bill Kirchen's ASS!!!!”

“Something about you make you think your shit don’t stink Young Buck, makes you think you’re so much better than these MEN. You isn’t no man young Buck, you’re just a fairy who can’t even tune his guitar!!”

“You think because you’re young and pretty you can play guitar better than Bill Kirchen. Well let me tell you something Young Buck being pretty will only get you so far.”

The bartender replying with “How the fuck would you know?” really was an astoundingly funny moment.

As I was getting yelled at I was answering back as best I could amusing myself while trying to get him to calm down but the more I placated and tried to play the nice card the angrier he got. He was like the Hulk, only a Hulk that weighed around 115 pounds and had early onset Emphysema and thinning hair and wore an ill-fitting Redskins sweatshirt that saw its best day back when Billy Kilmer was getting arrested for drunk in public the night after a game, (that was the 70’s for you non-Redskins-o-philes out there). The entire bar at this point was either laughing at or cussing at Drunky which got him ever more hostile. Probably not the best comment to make to defuse him was - "I've met both Bill and Tom a number of times, I'm sure they'd be thrilled to have a fucking dumbass clown like you waving their flag for them." but I made it, it seemed so right at the time.

That witticism was the straw that got Drunky off his stool and the bartender around the corner. Apparently I needed to get some of my "attitude smacked off". Now its one thing when some old brokendown douche is yelling at you across the bar but when they shuffle off the stool and start breathing the breath of the damned in your face it’s just too much. I have not been in a proper dust-up in years and have no interest or intention of ever getting in one again. They almost always ended up with me getting punched really hard and trying not to cry. Rarely was there that kind of punishment given to or reaction seen on the other side of the argument so I’m not throwing out the bad-ass card at all, just retelling the tale as it happened.

I was pretty sure that I could push Drunky over with a finger or concentrated breath if Alex ever let things get to the point of actual altercation which there was very little chance of. Alex is bigger than me and Drunky combined and is a friend so he would never allow a mess to be made that way over something as stupid as this. Being in a pretty safe position and tired of laughing it off I told Drunky in as stout and manly yet amused voice as I could muster (it’s an affectation worthy of trip to “Inside the Actor’s Studio” if you want to know the truth) that if he wanted to continue I'd be happy to bust his narrow ass and shove it up the coinslot of the payphone he was standing next to.

BOING!

Drunky followed the laws of the Slobberingly Pathetic Wino Universe and immediately softened the eyes, rocked back on the heels, raised his arms and tried to BRO hug me. You see "he was just kidding Young Buck!!!" It’s amazing really the politics of the drunks. Once you know the game plan it all unfolds like A-B-C every time. I sat back down and Drunky shuffled away with a muttering and a grumble. For the record I did not engage in a single fisticuff, push, shove or Bro hug with him. For this I am glad as touching him even cursorily would have meant a trip to the Doc’s for a Tetanus shot and I just don’t have time for that in my busy schedule!

To wrap it up; the bartender transferred my last beer to and then bought me a shot on Drunky's tab as a way to make him pay for being an asshole and peace was restored in the Kingdom. Marc dropped me off at la plaza de magnifico (my house) and upon my joyous arrival after the blaring of the horns of rapture had faded and the doves had flown away the lovely Mrs. asked how the game was. I said it was ugly but the Skins won and that the idiots were idiotic and all in all things were jolly and well. Later on I thought about asking her to refer to me as “Young Buck” but thought better of it, without the context it would be a little creepy.

Why do I keep going there you ask?

Why for you of course. Someone needs to make a sacrifice for your pleasure!!!

Call of the Wild

When traveling repeatedly to the same locale it's a good idea to set up a reliable base of operations. I travel to a certain mid-sized Southern city quite often for the jobbidity and always stay downtown at the same hotel so the hotel bar would seem to be the logical choice. However my loathing of the animals and maniacs that frequent hotel bars in general combined with overpricing and really scary bartenders invariably led me on a quest to find an alternative go-to location to wile away the time until I can get home to the happy embrace of my palacial estate and it's surreally cute occupants.

Some time back I ventured out on a warm fall evening (it's the South remember) wandering up Broad Street looking for the hovel away from home. I shuffled past the boarded up windows and tea houses and anything that resembled a cigar bar or a place most likely frequented by assholes. I was looking for some pretty basic criteria -

1- Dark
2 - Good jukebox
3- Good bartenders
4 - No dudes in French cuffs smoking cigars
5 - Cheap liquor

Not too much to ask for and after a few blocks and some looking about at unsuitable venues I stood at the threshold of a place called the Firehouse. "Hmm", thinks I, "this looks promising." From the sidewalk I could hear "Big Dumb Sex" by Soundgarden playing and saw a print of Iggy Pop's "Brick by Brick" album cover on the wall.

So far so good.

BDS ended and as I stepped to the threshold the opening strains of "For Those About to Rock" cranked out of the speakers the nanosecond my foot hit the floor of the bar.

Promising indeed.

I let my eyes adjust to the gloom, (two seconds in and criteria 1 and 2 had been met), and saw bounding up to greet me a happy faced yellow lab with a tennis ball in his mouth. The bartender yelled, "Awwww don't worry about him he's super-friendly. If you like dogs and play ball with him for a minute first drink is on me."

Check on #3.

At the bar was a motley looking assortment the kind you see at working class rock and roll bars in cities like Baltimore and Pittsburgh. Tattoos and dirty shoes, that kind of thing. Nary a collar much less a French cuff in sight. I tossed the ball to my new best friend and had a seat. The guy sitting next to me had two shots in front of him and said askance, "My buddy had to take off before we could tell Neil he didn't want another round. That's Jack Daniel's if you want it."

Tickmark next to #4.

So I'm just soaking up the atmosphere and listening to the tunes and enjoying my now two free drinks and was very well pleased with my discovery. Looking at the chalkboard I see that domestic cans cost $1.50 and shots are $3.00.

Bingo on the fivespot.

And I have found me a home. So I head over there whenever I visit and have gotten on a semi-regular basis with the bartenders and regulars. Enough to get an honest "good to see you" but not enough where I really have to get to know anyone. It's perfection with uneven floors. That being said the charm of the place is the rough edges and from time to time you're going to get some entertaining yet idiotic events taking place.

I headed over after dinner one night last week with some of the work folks that I have shared the secret of my Fortress of Solitude location with. A good group and we were looking forward to some bent elbow time at the bar. We got in the door and before I could order a beer a wild-eyed Grizzly Adams looking local yokel got into a push and shove with another yokel then punched him square in the mouth. The bartenders pushed them both outside where they proceeded to yell, advance, grimace, stomp, yell some more and then as is the nature of the universe give each other the big BRO hug and become best friends.

Awesome!

The BRO hug knows no boundaries!

So while I would rather be at home it's nice to have a place where you can curl up with a cheap cocktail and watch dumbasses punch each other in the face. Home is indeed where the heart is.

There is a God after all......

See?

Next thing you know they'll tell us cigarettes are good for the heart and girth of the dirty bits and then what a party we shall see!

Take that duck

This picture of a dog named Doobie just makes me laugh. Doobie eats shit and humps cats. He is a scary beast not in the "I'll rip your throat out" way, (unless you're a duck), but in a, "that dog with the addorable fluffy tail and sassy little underbite apparently has water on the brain and who knows what he might do next so watch your leg!!!" kind of way.

Me, Doobie and Jeremiah Johnson will be kicking it this Saturday at Philito's birthday extravaganza. Bring your own poo and waterfowl.

See ya later assholes!

Now that I'm upper crust and rolling in the dough who needs the likes of you people? It seems oh lower class minions that I'm a big lucky winner of the $500,000 consultation prize from Netherlands Powerball! I appreciate your friendship and all over the past years of my life, really I do, but you can't begrudge me denying your existence from here on out as I rub shoulders and bump into the Hiltons and Olsenseszz of the world now can you?

Thank the baby jesus for email and Internet Powerball Wheel LOTTO!!!

Now if you'll excuse me I have to contact the Due Process Unit (DPU) to collect my fortune.

Au revoir suckers!

from my inbox -

POWERBALL LOTTO -wheel E-game 2005,
Date: 28th-November-2005
Ref Nr: PBL/CN/7754/CPDear Consolation Prize Winner, CONSOLATION PRIZE WINNER NOTICE.

Europe/America private international e-games organizers and co-sponsors, POWERBALL LOTTO Group International, officially bring to your notice of the final draw result of the 28th November-2005 POWERBALL LOTTO -wheel E-game which was conducted at our international corporate office complex in The Netherlands. Most recently this foundation setup the NEW LOTTERY SCHEME to give out prizes based on COMPUTER BALLOT SYSTEM. By doing this the foundation seek to encourage the use of Internet for academic and business pursuits. It major aim is to promote music, theater, art, literature, projects in the social and political arena with a focus on health, as well as science, research, and higher education. We wish to congratulate and inform you on the selection ofyour email coupon number which was selected among the 45 lucky consolation prize winners. Your email ID identified with coupon No.PBL4548974321 and was selected by our E-games Random Selection System(ERSS) with entries from the 50,000 different email addresses enrolledfor the E-game. Your email ID was included among the 50,000 different email addresses submitted by our partner international email provider companies. You have won a consolation cash prize of US $ 500,000.00(Five hundred thousand US Dollars) only. The POWERBALL LOTTO Group. BV,have approved a payout of your consolation cash prize which will be remunerated directly to you by the official Payment Agency Board.

Our DUE PROCESS UNIT (DPU) will render to you complete assistance and provide additional information and processes for the claims of your consultation prize. For due processing of your winning claim, please contact the DPU Information/ file Officer: Mr. Janick Hills who has been assigned to assist you.

Contact E-mail: pbinfolott@netscape.net
TEL:+31-650-892-317
Fax: +31-847-580-560.

Remember,your winning must beclaimed not later than 17-12-05. After this date, claim will be return as unclaim fund. Once again congratulations from all our staffs on your consolation prize winning, we hope you will partake our forthcoming POWERBALL LOTTO -wheel Email-games.

Regards,
Mrs. TheresaPrunk, (Group Coordinator).

Note: It has come to our attention that fraudulent emails are being sent out from the Netherlands by some group of people. These emails are NOT from Powerball -wheel Email-games or the Multi-State Lottery Association. These emails may claim that the recipient has won a prize in Powerball -wheel Email-games or Australian Powerball, theNetherlands Powerball or some other non-existent international version of Powerball. These emails may include our name, our logo and links toa copy of an old Powerball web page as we are working seriously to ensure security on our web page. In accordance with the POWERBALLLOTTO -wheel E-games policy and regulations, this notification is dispatched directly to only the 45 lucky consolation prize Winners.

This notification also contains information that is proprietary,privileged or confidential or otherwise legally exempt from disclosure. If you are not the right recipient whose email address attached to the lucky numbers along with the winning information’s you are not authorized to read, print, retain, copy or disseminate this notice or any part of it.

Well done grasshopper

Well it’s been some time now….

I’ve been busy. SHUT UP!!!

Anyway to recount the last couple weeks in detail would be long and hard on the brainpan so I’ll just summarize some of the high and low points.

The band(ito) played a really fun show at the Velvet Lounge. An odd moment came and then came and came again post-set when an amorous attendee set her sights squarely upon young Trey and tried to lay lip smuckers on him over and over. Rebuffed by our stalwart Texan she proceeded to lavish attention upon other brutally handsome rakes such as me, myself, and I. Using my highly developed catlike reflexes I shucked and jived this Morganna of rock….back, left, right to and fro I went and was left with barely a smidgen of a smear of lipstick on my cherubic cheeks. Sometimes being raised in a puritanical ninja household has its advantages.

Thanksgiving festivities were good. The older brother of yours truly, Saint John as he is known, was in town looking younger than ever. People think I look young for my age but the Saint takes it to a completely ridiculous level. If he weren’t so damn virtuous and overall nice I would suspect he has a withered portrait of himself stashed away like Dorian Gray but I think he just keeps to a good diet and strict moisturizing regimen. Freak. I did my level best to get him good and drunk as often as possible and came close on a couple of occasions but never to the level I desired….the one where I could get him to confess to something really rotten that I could use against him when it was time to get Pops to update the will for instance. Yeah, Saint John talks a good game regarding the spirits but when it comes down to brass tacks he usually won’t go for it and get really stupid. In a last ditch hail-mary effort to get him dizzy I took him up to the local yokels bar along with Ali Baba and the Mrs. and it was high-spirited fun as it always is with the Baba and my loveliest of lovelies. My brother came out of the night OK but me and Ali were in pretty rough trade by the end of the night, something to do with shots named after cheese-based desserts and gallons of shitty domestic beer will do that to you. The brain damaged brethren that inhabit the bar were in good cheer that night getting fueled up to fry turkeys and burn their shitty houses to the ground the next day. Speaking of the cranially challenged I haven’t seen Boob up there in a while. Maybe he’s dead…...hmmmmmm. That would be SWEET as I would be one step up on the ladder of who gets to man the remote control for the TV set over the bar. The death of four hours of Hunter re-runs is nigh, it’s What Not To Wear and Justice League Unlimited on deck!! No wonder those assholes hate me so much.

In a sad sad turn of events my friend Bernard died and that was a pretty rough one to get through. He was a good friend, father, buddy all around. For instance he used to mow my lawn for free without being asked. Seriously. It all started when he bought himself a ridiculously large riding mower and sadly ended when it became apparent that his mowing skills consistently left the lawn with the appearance of a Marine Corps freshcut (complete with bald spots!) after he was done driving over it. Can you imagine how much it sucks to ask someone to stop mowing your lawn for you? If I didn't consider the lawn to be the equivalent of the hair on the head of my house I would never have asked him to stop but sacrifices must be made for the good of the hair...errr....lawn...whatever. He didn't get bent out of shape about it though as he was truely a good one. God bless ya Bernard, you were the swankiest Moroccan I ever did know and I will truly miss you telling me how shitty my wine is and taking me to the most God-forsaken restaurants NOVA has to offer. Sleep well.

Now back to me but still speaking of Bernard; As if going to the funeral of a friend isn’t shitty enough when the Mrs. and I went to pay Bernard our respects we had the stupid asshole family sitting behind us with stupid asshole little kid saying stupid asshole things and making me want to have them all trade places with Bernard. If your kid is such a fucking stupid asshole brat that it can’t keep still and quiet for ten minutes at a funeral leave it out in the car, preferably in the cold. Worse than dealing with the stupid asshole family came directly after the service. We had wrapped up the praying and damn if I wasn't in tears even while glaring at the stupid assholes on the way out of the funeral proper. We got in the receiving line comprised of grieving family including Bernard’s kids and there I am teary and reflective and thinking about Bernard and his family and my kids and the wifey until I’m rudely shaken from my reflection by the fuckface standing in front of me with his gross wife and disgusting kids. Lord King Shitface, (that’s my pet name for him) was talking loudly through his handlebar mustache (no lie) to no one in particular that he was “going to be cutting it close to making the tee time if we don’t get out of here.” I couldn’t believe it. What level of prickdom do you have to attain to even have that train of thought running through your brain at a FUNERAL?!?!?!?! On the off chance that you’re reading this you Rollie Fingers wannabe piece of dogshit why don’t you go shove a seven wood up the hole of your pathetic withered cock and attach yourself to one of those gigantic junkyard magnets so I can shoot arrows with sticks of dynamite duct taped to them at you like the Dukes of Hazzard used to. It would be the only possible useful purpose I can imagine you serving.

Later that day…..

I went with Ali Baba to Iota to see our friends in Brother Seamus play. The Mrs. stayed home to rest her weary head as she apparently finds weekends with me and Ali to be exhausting. Strange thing that but very good times all around hanging and banging with the Arlington crowd of yesteryear. The singer from my beloved old band, the mighty mighty Luka Brazzi, was DJ’ing between sets and all was swell and jolly and it lifted the veil of sadness that I was feeling about Bernard. He would have dug it with all the yukking and hoisting of the devil's piss, Bernard was always up for a party and I toasted him in quiet several times that night. As randomly happens all too often when you have lived in the same area as long as I have I ended up standing next to someone I had not seen in years and had never thought of seeing again. Like a vampire all of a sudden….there he was!!! Johnny V. in the flesh. Ali and I knew Johnny V. from back in the dot-com days when he was a salesman at the company we worked for that tanked through $47,000,000 in less than two years and never saw a dime of justifiable revenue come through the door. Johnny V. was on the business development team......that's just enough of a joke that I don't think I have to embellish it. I don't know if times have been lean for Johnny V. but Ali and I are both convinced he was wearing the same shirt as he was the day we met him. It's like we were frozen in time.

HAS ANYONE SEEN MY 487,000 STOCK OPTIONS?!??!?!

I got yelled at once for not spending enough of the company’s money on a weekly basis. Being a good employee I quickly made up for my dereliction of duty by taking my co-workers to Mister Smith's and running up a $600 tab which is a feat in and of itself. I got a "high-five" award for my commitment to bringing "energy and fun to the corporate culture". Now I would get fired for that kind of company spirit....stupid rules and businesses that make money spoiling my good cheer!! On one occasion at the B-2 dot.bomber I was given some cash at a company happy hour by one of our totally drunk corporate officers to procure some "special tobacco wink wink nudge nudge" for a client. Not being interested in that errand and despite what you may think not being 100% stupid I tried to give the money back. I was refused with another wink wink and nudge nudge so I said fuck it and fuck you and pocketed the dough and took the Mrs. to dinner the next night with the proceeds. Never was a word said about it again although that guy never really liked me too much after that. Irregardless…..

So we’re at Iota hanging out with the Tab Burglar (you know him…..just figures since you’re BROS that he can add a drink or twenty for himself and the sluts he is trying to get drunk so he can molest them on to your tab), Kentucky Rob, a guy named Floppy, Johnny V., Backlick Keith, G.B. and this guy Crazy Rob who is Ali’s slightly insane business associate hooting and hollering and having a ball along with a host of others in the bar, (including a gaggle of really scary heavily maked up middle-aged women that were the picture of the severely horny real estate agent from one’s worst nightmares. I stayed as far away from them as possible). Ali was holding court at the bar as he is prone to do hoisting these snot green shooters and getting love from the throng. Ali is great like that, if they were ever to do a remake of the Gong Show he would have the Chuck Barris gig in a heartbeat. I was chit-chatting with Kentucky Rob and Adam and thinking of how much I would love to dismember this one unfortunate patron that I have long standing disdain for when Ali approached with a wild look in his eye. He had found some companions who assured him that the party of the lifetime was occurring at Club Spank and he just had to go, (it being that kind of party). Heartbroken as he was at my reply of “no fucking way” to his invitation to join him and his new party favors he manned up, banged down three snot shots and with a hug and a smile and four dollars shoved in my shirt (I don’t why) he was off to Spank…fare thee well young Baba!!!! The lights went on and it was time to so go so I went to settle my check and ended up settling the one for the 24 snot shooters which Ali had ordered in his state of ringleaderly madness. Ali squared with me the next day when we went to the grocery store. He’s not a Tab Burglar or worse a Tab Walker by any stretch of the imagination, he was just excited and confused about who paid for what, (and staggeringly drunk to boot!!)

I got home and bade the cruel world goodnight smelling like the devil’s ashtray and wondering who transplanted a washing machine into my gullet. The next day I yelled at the Redskins, ate turkey and fell asleep like a good boy should. It was a good night and a good weekend and a good week mixed with some melancholia and true sadness. The whole range of the human experience…..with shots.

Anybody else read our new and improved strategy for achieving victory in Iraq? I could have sworn that “hoping blindly that the baby Jesus makes things start going our way" was the strategy we had already employed but I guess I was wrong. Thankfully we have a new and improved shit covered piece of toilet paper to use as our roadmap to success instead of the old one.

And now the end is near
I see before me the final curtain

Doo lee doo…