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Random jonx, in honor of the glorious return of my friend and bad-ass blogger Fyrchk. Welcome back from hiatus, mama! Missed you much.
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The gig Friday night went really well! We rocked the spot, and have been invited back to play again sometime. And for those of you who wonder about the glamorous rock star life style, here’s a little peek into the reality of it – for our headlining gig, we got paid, as an entire band, $125. That’s not a typo. We got something like $5 for every person who said they were there to see Nonetheless, so that’s our mighty haul for the night. We don’t even split that money up – we apply it directly to band rent. And it doesn’t even cover half. We’ll be a-gigging again in a couple of weeks to make up the difference. Other than that (and our lead singer arriving approximately 5 hours later than expected), the show was so cool. At one point, when we were playing our signature song “Show Me (Your Tits)”, I glanced to my left, where the stage steps were, and there were 2 security guys just standing at the top of the steps. Generally speaking, seeing the beefy security guys all up next to you isn’t a good thing, so I eased over to them during the song and said “Is everything ok?” They looked at me and said “Hell YEAH, everything’s ok! Wouldn’t you wanna be up here, if you were us?” Turning back to the audience, I realized why – there was a sea of breasticles, lovingly displayed to us by our wonderful crowd. God, I love being in a band. Check out the marquee:
WE’RE ALL UP ON THE MARQUEE, PEOPLE! This was so damn nice, I nearly wet myself as I pulled up to the place. The venue is a converted theater, and still has many of the elements from that day and age. See the room?
This is about an hour before the show started. For those of you who don’t get out to rock clubs often, this place is HUGE. HUGE.
This is what it looked like, via crappy cell phone picture, during the show. Hopefully I’ll soon have some semi-professional looking pics of the event, maybe even some of us onstage. I’ll keep you posted. Oh, and I got pulled over by the cops at 4:30am as I was trying to get my black ass home. Fortunately, I didn’t get a ticket…he was a music fan, and I played up the band angle hard core. A fitting end to a good night.
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On Saturday, 8YO wanted to go to the local baseball tryouts. He’s been wanting to do this for over a month, and has been on his best behavior since I last posted about him. He’s counting the days like a prisoner up for parole. At any rate, he and I went to the ballpark Saturday afternoon so that he could see where his skillset was, compared to other kids. He’s never played baseball before, and even though we had worked on throwing, catching, and hitting, I wasn’t certain where he’d line up, with other kids having played for 2 or 3 years already. Naturally, he ran into some kids he knew and immediately left ol’ Dad to wait in line with a tiny baseball bat and a very hung-over expression (remember, the gig was the night before). I watched as the coaches threw high-arcing lobs for kids to catch in the outfield; hit grounders so that the kids could practice throwing to first base; let them pitch a bit, and then allowed them to bat and run the bases. And I know these are little kids, but honestly – they could’ve all tried a little harder. One kid threw the ball clean over the fence and into the actual baseball game taking place one field over. He’ll not be pitching anytime soon, methinks. After an hour of watching the competition, it was 8YO’s turn.
Outfield: Coach threw five lobs, and 8YO caught four and flung them to 2nd base. Well, one went to the dugout, but the boy was nervous. And so was the guy in the dugout.
Infield: Coach hit 5 ground balls, and 8YO used good technique (taught by yours truly) to scoop the balls and throw them to 1st base. This he did without an issue.
Pitching: 8YO threw 5 pitches to home plate. Now, the first pitch went so high, I think it scraped the bottom of a cloud, but the other four were pretty level and over the plate. He looked like Roger Clemens, only without the steroids syringe sticking out of his buttocks.
Batting: OK, here’s where my boy did it up for real. 5 pitches from the coach. The first one, he swung and missed. I was holding my breath. The second pitch, PING! He sent it to left field, and started running like his shoes were on fire. The coaches called him back, telling him that they only wanted him to run on the last hit. The third pitch, PING! Right back to the coach. And he ran like goats were eating his pants while they were still on him. The coaches called him back, and told him to run on the last hit. The fourth pitch, PING! Hard to shortstop. And he ran like midgets were throwing lightning bolts at his neck while sliding down an oiled ramp. The coaches called him back, and told him to run on the last hit. The last pitch, PING! Foul to left, but the coaches yelled “RUN!” And he ran like NASA attached afterboosters to his Heelies, going so fast that he didn’t hit ANY of the bases except for home plate, where the coaches waited to high five him. It was magnificent. The other kids? They made contact with the ball once or twice, and jogged around the bases like they had just hit home runs. My boy shut it DOWN. I even heard the coaches murmuring to each other, as though they were saying “My God, the talent this young man has! I’ve never seen such raw speed!” Or something like that.
8YO, getting last-minute instructions from the soon-to-be awestruck coach.
8YO, right after hitting pitch #3. I need to work on his stance, but he’s got Wii-influenced hand/eye coordination.
I got the phone call today…he made it! He’ll be on a team called the Beavers or the Barons or something, and we’ll meet up tomorrow night to see what’s what. I’m so proud of him. I just hope he keeps on counting his good days.
Peace.
Just click here to launch the show.
We’re going on at or very close to 5:00pm Central, which is:
- 6:00pm Eastern
- 4:00pm Mountain and Arizona (got it right this time)
- 3:00pm Pacific
As always, our conversation will be pulled from a grab-bag of miscellaneous and random topics, and completely out of our asses. It’s how we roll.
Be there!
Peace.
Lawd have mercy, Kim Kardashian. I never even heard of you before you made that sex tape with singer Brandy’s little brother Ray J, and now you’ve completely overtaken Eva Mendes in my “I Would Hurt Myself Getting With Her” poll. Have you seen her pics? My monitor damn-near melted, and I KNOW I saw some condensation on my glasses. I’m so glad you’re famous, Kim K. Welcome to my world. In other news, my band has a gig Friday night at the Ridglea Theater in Fort Worth, and a brotha is NERVOUS! It’s a huge show for us, and this venue is one of the premier places in the Metroplex – and we’re HEADLINING. So if you’re in the Dallas-Ft. Worth area, get your Kardashian-sized booty on down to the show.
Y’all ready for this? Well then, without delay…let’s diatribe.
(go Obama!)
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UXBRIDGE, Mass. — A convicted Level 3 sex offender has won $10 million in the Massachusetts State Lottery. The Worcester Gazette & Telegram reports 56-year-old Daniel Snay, of Uxbridge, could now face charges because he failed to notify authorities that he had moved, according to Connecticut State Police.“I’m flabbergasted,” Connecticut State Police Lt. Paul Vance told the Telegram. “His whereabouts, until you told me about this, have been unknown to us. But I guess you could say he’s very fortunate.” Snay works driving trucks for a yacht dealership in Mendon. He won the $10 million from a $20 scratch ticket purchased at Cumberland Farms in Hopedale. But the lottery winnings also come with unwanted publicity.“He was concerned, but there’s not much you can do about it,” said Snay’s lawyer Joseph M. Fabricotti. “We talked about it and he understood this was one of the repercussions that could happen.” Snay’s record of sexual assaults dates back to 1974. He has been convicted six times of indecent assault and battery in Massachusetts. Level 3 offenders are considered the most dangerous and the most likely to commit another crime.
Some guys have all the luck. Not that being a Level 3 sex offender is lucky, per se, but he’s a Level 3 sex offender with 10 million reasons not to be a recidivist again. (“Recidivist”, folks, means “repeat offender”. I’m here to help.) And this is the second convicted felon in a couple of months who hit the lottery. Is this the key? Do I need to commit a felony, get caught and convicted, and then released after serving my time? Shouldn’t be TOO hard – I’m black and in the south, after all. Shit ain’t fair, man. Honestly though, he’s got bigger fish to fry now than whether NAMBLA has his most current mailing address, because now his neighbors know that he’s a sex offender AND he’s got $10 million. This is a potentially lethal double-whammy, because not only do the Johnsons suddenly learn that nice Mr. Snay is a sex offender of the highest order, but he’s RICH, bitch! Can’t you see how this is gonna play out now? Let’s examine:
(knock on the door)
Sex offender: “Yeah, who is it?”
Kid: “Billy, from across the street. Say, let me borrow $500,000 and your vacuum cleaner.”
SO: “Say what?”
Kid: “You heard me, Perv Griffin. Give me the loot. And make it snappy…”The Fairly OddParents is coming on.”
SO: “Um…no. Go away. “
Kid: “So, you’re saying you’re NOT gonna give me what I want, Mr. Level 3 Sex Offender? And don’t try anything – I’ve got a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle walkie-talkie taped to my chest, and my dad’s got the cops on speed dial. Don’t get any ideas.”
SO (sighing): “Do you take a check?”
Kid: “The only check I’ll take from you is a background check. Pay me in dimes, mofo.”
(And if you don’t know what NAMBLA is, google it yourself. I will NOT put a link to them on my blog. I won’t even link to the Wikipedia entry. Damn all that.)
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CORSICANA – Police say the driver of a bus filled with about 40 former prison inmates abandoned the vehicle Thursday along a highway because her working hours for the day were over. The passengers had been paroled or released from the state prison in Huntsville. Some wore ankle bracelet monitors. They were aboard a Greyhound charter headed to a bus terminal in Dallas, but wound up 60 miles short. “In 31 years in law enforcement I’ve never seen anything like this,” Corsicana Police Sgt. Lamoin Lawhon told the Corsicana Daily Sun. Police said the bus was chartered from Greyhound Bus Lines Inc. The driver pulled over in front of a convenience store around 4 p.m. and told the passengers her allotted driving time was up and another driver was on the way. A clerk in the convenience store called police. Officers arrived to find the former prisoners milling around the bus. Police said dispatchers exchanged several phone calls with Greyhound officials and the Texas Department of Criminal Justice in Austin. Lawhon and two other officers stayed with the bus and the parolees. Just before 7 p.m., a second bus arrived with three drivers – including the one who had abandoned her passengers in the first place, Lawhon said. Greyhound spokesman Dustin Clark declined to identify the driver who left the bus. He said company officials were investigating the incident. “It is a very serious matter,” he said. Clark said drivers have to follow strict guidelines on consecutive working hours and rest periods. Police said there were no incidents involving the passengers while they were stranded. “Their behavior was exemplary,” said Officer Travis Wallace.
See, this is the essence of following the letter of the law, but not the spirit. When 4 o’clock struck, Ms. Buslady pulled over, slid down the brontosaurus tail, and broke out. Post office employees don’t leave with that level of quickness, and they had to deal with the anthrax AND with holiday shipping. What isn’t explained is (a) why didn’t she find out some important things ahead of time, such as when they were leaving, how long it takes to get there…little things like that, which could’ve helped the dumb woman figure out her schedule a bit better, and (b) how she got home (or back to work, from the sounds of things) after she abandoned these folks. Did she have a car waiting? If so, the whole thing was premeditated, and that’s pretty fucked up. Did she take a taxi? It would’ve cost her more to take a cab home than the amount of overtime pay she might’ve received had she worked just a little while longer. Seriously, I can’t figure out why she chose that time and that place to just abandon these people tryin’ to make it to Dallas so they could see 2932093 malls and the place where JFK got shot. And whatever her plan was, it was doomed for failure, seeing as how she was one of the drivers on the bus that came BACK to get them. Crisis of conscious? Realization of a deed done wrong? Or a note on her car back at the prison that read “Bitch, if you don’t get your trifling ass back down to the Circle K in Corsicana RIGHT NOW, you’ll find out what it’s like to BE newly-released, in about 3-5 years. MOVE YOUR ASS!”? I bet it was that whole realization thing. Lucky for her these folks were on their way out, and not on their way in, or that Circle K might’ve been a burning pile of Doritos and motor oil when she got back. And then where would she buy her scratch-offs?
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Stafford County Sheriffs have arrested 20 year-old Lorenzo Herbert for the armed robbery of the McDonalds Restaurant at 766 Warrenton Road in Stafford County Saturday, February 16, shortly after midnight. Officers were dispatched to a robbery in progress at the McDonalds Restaurant at 766 Warrenton Road in Stafford County. Authorities were informed that a recently fired employee had just robbed the restaurant with a handgun and had walked out a side door and was walking down Plantation Drive. A description of the suspect was given and officers quickly made an arrest. Herbert was found with cash stolen from the McDonalds, a black ski mask, some marijuana and a BB gun that looked exactly like a hand gun. Herbert had been fired earlier in the evening and had returned to the restaurant prior to closing. He put a mask over his face, went behind the counter and forced the manger to the store safe. After showing the manger the gun in his pants the manger turned over the cash. At that point Herbert ordered the manger into the walk-in freezer. Among the charges against him are armed robbery and use of a firearm in the commission of a felony.
Remember way back when, when I was gonna open an academy for training criminals on how to not be stupid? You ‘member. I was complaining about the vast reservoir of dumb that these people dip into whenever they get the bright idea to commit a crime before really thinking it all the way through first, and how I could help them avoid capture and hurting others by opening this school, and then narc’ing to the authorities to get paid on both ends. Brilliant plan, yes? Well, after reading shit like this, I get all excited and start thinking about actual business plans and small business loans. Someone please explain to me why anyone with a third of a brain would return to a job they were fired from THAT VERY DAY, and rob the place, with the people he worked with still there, who would surely recognize his voice! This is so far beyond dumb that Dumb had to buy a map and a GPS system just to get back to its neighborhood. To make a bad decision worse, he fled the scene…on foot. OK, I’ve never robbed anything (that I’m gonna tell you about), but I’m pretty sure that if I did, I’d arrange some type of faster transportation besides Adidas power! Who robs a place and then strolls off, with a pocketful of cash, weed, ski mask, and a BB gun? And that takes me to Point #2: A BB gun is an ingenious choice of weaponry, particularly if you don’t really want to hurt anyone (except to maybe put their eye out). But here’s the thing – in the committal of a felony, it just doesn’t fucking matter. You could use a banana in your pocket, and it’s treated the same when (not if) your silly ass gets arrested. And what would he have done if the manager whipped out his OWN gun, and played a nice game of Whose Bullet Hurts More with this idiot? I’m about to pop a blood vessel just thinking about all the high-level stupidity committed by Herbert. In fact, I’m going to address him directly, something I rarely do. Hey, Herbert! I hope you feel real good, getting revenge on those suckas at the Mickey D’s like that. Bravo, playa. Listen; you’ll have plenty of time to think about the flaws, weak points, deficiencies, soft areas, blind spots, and overall fuckedupedness in your poorly thought-out master plan. Think long and hard, Herbert. You could’ve been filling out applications to Subway right now, but instead, your cellmate will be using your ass as his own personal subway instead. Remember – breathe out. Idiot.
Peace.
Happy One Day After Silly-Ass Valentine’s Day! I generally despise this fake and manufactured holiday on the basis that there’s enough real shit to be giving gifts and cards for that we don’t need this extra pressure and expenditure of cash, but I know many of you adore that day, so I’ll try to tone down the cynicism. This time. I wasn’t feeling the love yesterday, so I decided to flip the script and utilize the opposite emotion (which rarely gets a workout here in Damiana). Given my general mood over the fake holiday, or “fuckaday”, I decided to cheer myself up with one of my favorite past times of yesteryear: hating Duke University.
I have to give mad props to HotDrHusband, who had me ROLLING last weekend after watching this video. If you hate Duke University, this will pretty much be the video equivalent of an intense orgasm while winning the lottery to you. If you love Duke…well, watch it anyway and learn from the lessons being taught. Don’t hate the player…hate the game. And the school. My personal hatred of Duke began in college, where the Dookies were one of our conference rivals. They sucked at everything except basketball, and they made up for their general sucknicity by constantly pointing out their basketball superiority to anyone within earshot. I remember an incident when Duke played a basketball game in Clemson one season, the last season Christian Laettner was on the team. Some friends of mine were standing near one of the baskets, hurling insults at Laettner each time he lumbered down to that end of the court. Their goal? To fuck with him. I never got the full story about what they said to him, but whatever it was, it was so vile, so debased, so full of vitriol that after making a basket, he actually turned to them and said “What the FUCK, man?” I shed a single tear when I heard that. They made me so proud. Hating Duke isn’t just an activity…it’s a hobby. Fark.com (where I get the majority of my diatribe material) makes a point of saying “Duke sucks” at least a few times a day on their sports page. Hating Duke is a tradition that is and should be passed down from generation to generation, like and sickle cell anemia and making good sweet potatoes. Have you ever been to the Duke campus? It’s gorgeous, unless you need to go to the store or get gas or something, because as soon as you step foot off of its idyllic setting, you’re in the hood deeper than Snoop Dogg at his high school reunion. Durham, N.C. is so rough that some people call it “Do Run”. Even the carjackers carry mace in Durham. If you have to walk down the street there, go ahead and dial “9″ and “1″ on your cell phone, and keep your thumb on the “1″. Wanna know why the medical treatment and emergency response is so damn good in Durham? Because it has to be. Perfect setting for the school I love to hate.
I hate Duke, and it sucks for me personally because my best friend went to Duke for grad and medical school (yes, both), and still works there now. I love my boy, even though he makes questionable educational decisions, so if you’re reading this…just shut down your browser, man. This is gonna be rough. For the rest of you?
Enjoy.
Feel my hatred.
Peace.
The Not Safe For Work (also known as the Funny) version
The Safe For Work (or the Watered Down) version
Let me preface this post by saying one thing:
I love these women.
Fyrchk, Elle, and HotDrWife….these are my peoples. My homies. We’ve known each other online for years – literally years now – And when the opportunity presented itself to hang out with them (as well as other people I’ll mention), I couldn’t pass it up. That opportunity was this past weekend, and this is my story.
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I hate flying. I mean, I’m not afraid of it or anything…I’m just not big on it. When I fly, I take a solemn oath to (a) hold the plane aloft by gripping the armrests and pulling up on them until we get to 20,000 feet, and (b) kick the pilot squarely in the face if he tries to land us like our name is Goose and the airport is an aircraft carrier in a tsunami. So when I boarded my flight Friday evening, I was less than enthused when Mr. Flydaplane got on the intercom and said something like “Blah blah blah, torn liner in the luggage compartment, blah blah blah, 45 minute delay.” This annoyed me, because if I HAVE to fly, I damn well better be prompt about the shit. Eventually they told us that we’d have to change planes, and then terminals, and that meant a 2 hour delay getting to Denver. Damian = unhappy camper. Thankfully, Mr. Pilot put us down in one piece, and I went to find my greeting party.
Now, the other two out-of-towners had arrived hours earlier. Elle got in around 10:30, and I think roosters were still crowing when Fyrchk landed her ass in Denver. Due to my lateness in arrival, the 3 womenfolk decided to have some drinks while waiting for me to drag my ass in that night, so what greeted me was something that sounded like a cross between banshees singing “I Will Always Love You” and the tire squeal of a ‘78 Monte Carlo on a high-speed chase in downtown San Francisco. After recovering my hearing, I hugged my people: HotDrWife, cool and relaxed, wisecracking and playing hostess; Elle, funny as always, moving and talking like a recording played just a hair too fast; and Fyrchk, laid back and drunk as hell, asking if every single black man walking through the airport was me. Even the janitor. Fyrchk also claimed that every piece of raggedy, non-matching, floral patterned, uncool luggage was mine. She even charged me with packing my shit in a “Hefty bag with duct tape wrapped around it”, which made us all laugh our asses off. Elle had to step to this bitty hen who evidently didn’t care for our unique brand of humor, and the bitty backed down faster than J.J. Evans did to Florida on “Good Times”. Did we get some looks, a large black man cackling with 3 white women? Uh, yeah. But fuck them – the amigos were together at last.
After leaving the airport, I had to hear “THAT’S OUR SONG” for every…single…song that came on the radio. I swear, the Emergency Broadcast System alert could’ve come on, and someone would’ve screamed “THAT’S OUR SONG!” and started doing the cabbage patch or the wop to it. These women were out of control. Me? Shock and awe. We stopped at a bar near HDW’s house, where HotDrHusband caught up with us. He’s taaaaaaaaall. At first, he had the look of someone who got tricked into jury duty with the promise of lottery tickets and free tire rotations, but once we started talking sports, it was all good. After knocking back a few, we retired to the Chateau HDW, which….defies words. I’m not gonna go into details about how nice their wonderful home is, but I’ll say this – I’d live in their basement ANY TIME. I mean that – I could make a home out of that basement. All I need is a mail slot, a stove, and subscription to Basement Monthly so I can keep abreast of all the latest trends and styles in basement dwelling. Call me, double HD’s. We’ll make it happen.
Saturday had been planned as an excursionary day, with the group talking about driving up to Red Rocks or to other areas native to Denver and Colorado, but after dragging ass a bit, all we could muster was brunch and a trip to the mall. The most notable thing about the mall was the children’s play area, where the different items for climbing and sliding were all breakfast items: sausages, bacon (mmm, bacon), eggs…it was a bit disturbing. HDW referred to it as the “germ breakfast”, and after watching the kids slide around on giant plastic pieces of toast, I had to concur. After leaving the mall, I rode with HDH through a high-end area of town, where we visited a store called Bang and Olufsen:
And listen, people…I’m not gonna tell you your biz. But I couldn’t even afford a sales brochure in here. Bang and Olufsen is German for “I think you’re looking for Best Buy, which is down there“. But they have some very, very nice equipment. I think I left a little drool on the floor in front of the plasma TV. But I digress. Oh, and there was plenty of this, despite the warmish weather:
Do you SEE this? This, people, is something the locals call snow. I am unfamiliar with this naturally occurring phenomenon. I had to investigate.
What? The three feet? Don’t judge me. Like you don’t have something unusual about you. Don’t make me talk about your hooves. And look, there was even some African-American snow. It’s Black History Month, you know.
That “rock” is a pile of dirty black snow, pushed to the side of the road. Since the most snow I had ever seen before only amounted to maybe 2″, this was like seeing how a clock works to me. Black snow? What’s next, black eggs? Amazing.
That night was the actual event – the party and roast of the illustrious HotDrWife. Around 6pm, a cast of characters started arriving:
- ClizBiz – Cool and calm and funny as hell. ClizBiz was the Queen of the Questions, asking things like what our most embarrassing moments were. Mine involved a bus trip, some bad Chinese food, and an assplosion. Hey, I wasn’t always a rock star.
- Howard – Oh my God. Howard and I hit it off on several points, from both having lived in South Carolina AND attending Clemson, to our mutual love and fascination with the show “Naruto“. We’re not nerds; we’re geeks. Get it right, get it tight.
- Shmeder – Quiet, friendly, and seemingly reserved, but once she started talking, there were a few moments of “say WHAT?” from the chorus around the table.
- Larry – Oh, Larry. Larry, you’re great. A fantastic sport. Great conversationalist, dark wit, and a sparkling personality. Perhaps TOO sparkling, Larry. See, when you come in with a gay man, and hang with aforementioned gay man the majority of the time, and display certain mannerisms (nothing major, mind you) that one could associate with a gay man (particularly if you’re standing beside one for most of the evening), then it stands to reason that, not having ANY other evidence to the contrary, some of us (coughEllecough) might come right out and OUT LOUD assume you are said gay man’s partner, rather than being the straight, married man that you are. I’m just sayin’, man. Wear some aviator glasses or something.
- Kath – Bubbly and smiling, she came in after getting off work. I won’t say where she works, but I thought she was wearing an iPhone around her neck, and if it wasn’t for the fact that Verizon (in their infinite wisdom) doesn’t support it, I might’ve tried to sweet-talk that bad boy off of her. But I was wrong, and I blame the beer and the shots of vodka on my mistake.
- Amy and Tom – Friends of HDW’s from the “real world”. They are fun folks, and they have the CUTEST KIDS. Yeah. I said it. TheBoy was tow-headed and full of fun, and 1MonthOld was adorable. Oh, and TheBoy? He had a li’l something that Elle was openly coveting:
Focus on the cup, people. I’m not even sure whose cleavage that is. Just focus on the cup, because at one point I swear I saw Elle trying to slip this into her purse. Stealing from a child. For shame, pirate.
The party was a blast. HDH showed a slideshow of HDW’s life and times, which was funny and touching. We had cake and beer, screamed and laughed, and made pics like this:
Me and Howard, performing a Naruto jutsu. I think it’s called “Geek Style: Goober Clone Jutsu” or something. Either way, we were still geeks afterwards, so the shit either worked really well, or not at all. You be the judge.
Me and HDW, the birthday girl.
Me and some random chick who wandered in. I think she was a Girl Scout or a Jehovah’s Witness, or maybe an escaped felon. I thought it best to just go along. Aw, y’all know that’s Elle. The mouth and all.
The Bug, mad that I stopped reading a book about pigeons driving buses. Honestly, pigeons shouldn’t be driving motor vehicles, and I said so, but Bug wasn’t having it. He’s adorable, and I have the sore ribs from him jumping on me to prove it. Also he kicked me in the balls. But we won’t talk about that. Boys will be boys.
I was looking for a pic of me and Fyrchk, but every time I tried, she growled and called me “bitch” and threatened my life. Maybe some will surface in the future…if so, I will post them and then blame it on someone else so she doesn’t kick my ass. I have a healthy fear respect for my homegirl.
Sunday was a bummer day, spent playing Playstation 3 and chillin’ while we each shuffled off to the airport, one by one. I want to thank HDW and HDH for everything they did. You are truly wonderful people. Thank you for this t-shirt, HDW:
You know my love for bacon. The TSA guard at the airport stared my ass down, looking on this bad-ass shirt. I thought he was gonna arrest me! Thank you for everything. And thank you for opening your basement. Just let me know when I can ship my shit there.
Peace.
Stuff People Say