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Yeah, so, I couldn't come up with a "clever" title for this post. I just bounced my fingers off the keyboard. I'm drinking whisky (John Barr, a foine Scottish blend, bitches) and Coke, smoking a cigar, and I just don't care. Piss off.

This past weekend was all kinds of groovy.

Thursday night (I know it's not technically the "weekend," but I don't care. Don't bog me down with semantics.) Rad Lass and I went to Casey O'Toole's to see Scotch Logic play. She hadn't yet seen "The Logic," and I thought she would dig them. I was right. After all, they are a kick-ass band. They play a good mix of covers, not just the typical, "K-Rock stuff." Some of their song choices are, admittedly, gay, but the commoners seem to enjoy that sort of thing. So, we got to see my pals, Flan, Rob, Phil, and Woody rock out with their cocks in, and it was Big Fun. Rob's gal was there, as was R-to-the-muthafuckin'-K. Drinks were drunk, laughs were had, and then it was back to Club Infartos for Crazy Angry Monkey Sex with Rad Lass. Hell yeah.

Friday night I decided to stay in. I was going to venture out to see Chump's gig at Pub 46. Not only was it to be their first time there, it was the debut of their new bassist, Art. I was curious to check it out. But then Rob B. came over with a twelve pack of beer and his acoustic guitar (more on that later), and we proceeded to drink and jam. Jam and drink. We started in on the Wild Turkey, and before you know it, we were pretty tore up. I looked at the clock, and it was already 12:30. Chump was only playing untill 1am. Oops.

Then Rad Lass, BirdHouze, and one of their pals (I think his name was...Mike? Mark? Shit, I'm awful with names. Either way, he seemed like a cool guy.) showed up on my doorstep with even more beer! They had come from the Chevelle (Chevelle? HA HA HA HA...GAY.) concert at The Starland Ballroom, and were all pretty hammered. I guess you would have to be hammered to watch a Chevelle show. In Rad Lass' defense, she's not a fan, but Bird had bought her a ticket, so she figured "what the fuck," and went along for the ride. They were both bruised from head to toe-they're nutty "pit bitches." I love it. Rad Lass took great pleasure in describing how she met the bassist for Chevelle, and told him his band sucks. That's my girl!

So, the four of us drank even more, some combustibles were...combusted, and we had a big ol' acoustic jammy-jam. Rob, Bird, and Good Old What's-His-Name left around 5am, and I turned to Rad Lass with love in my eyes and wood in my pants... She was passed out. Damn. I briefly considered molesting her in her sleep, but then decided against it...this time. Bwa-ha-ha-ha!!!

Saturday night, I had an acoustic gig at The Boonton Ave. Grill with my friend, Rob. Not Rob B., a different Rob. I did, however, borrow Rob B's guitar, and what a guitar it is. A beautifully handcrafted Yamaha. A joy to behold, and a pleasure to play. My guitar, on the other hand, is fucked. Fucked, I say. Bleh. If any of you really loved me, you'd buy me a new one. You selfish fucks. "I keed, I keed..."

The gig was a last-minute thing, by which I mean, it was booked on Friday afternoon. I made a few calls and sent out e-mails to all of my peeps, but I didn't expect a big turnout. Normally, I don't give two tugs on a dead dog's dick how many people show up to a cover gig (because cover gigs are gay), but this time was different. The Boonton Ave. Grill (or, "The Bag," as it's known by the hep cats) doesn't charge a cover at the door, they pay you 10% of what they make at the bar. That sucks. If you have a light crowd, you're basically playing for nothing. Also, The Bag doesn't really have any "built in crowd." They pack it in for dinner, but then everybody usually leaves. I don't blame them, the drinks are pricey in that joint.

Much to my surprise, we had a great turnout. Fuck that shit, I had a great turnout. Nothing against Rob, but none of his people showed up due to the last-minute nature of the gig. My people, though, came through big time. I couldn't believe it. It was one of those nights where everyone just decided to meet up at the gig. There were folks there that I hadn't seen for well over a year, or more. Almost all of the old "Monday Night Morons" crew attended (I know most of you don't know what that means, but I don't feel like explaining it right now. Perhaps some other time. Perhaps not. In the meantime, feel left out. Because, you are. Left out. Nerd.). I know I'm going to accidentally leave some people out, but I shall now attempt to name those of my people who showed up: Kenny (from Chump) and a friend of his, DeanO, Rad Lass, The Clown, Jessica and The Ruff Man, Rodelius The Ridiculous and his gal, Krudle, Jimmy B., Boo, Jessy, Blind Lemon Joe and his woman, Goellner and some chicks, Big Jeff, the guy from Anger (I forget his name), ummm...I know I'm forgetting some people, but fuck it, no one reads this shit, anyway. Suffice to say, it was a great turnout. A bunch of folks who were there for dinner stuck around, as well. The owner was happy, and the bartender, Bob, comped our (considerable) bar tab. The only thing that sucked was that I had to actually play music, so I didn't get a chance to spend much time with any of my kickass friends. Rad Lass got to meet most of them, and really hit it off with DeanO, who is one of my bestest friends, and a genuine Good Man. Shit, I hope she doesn't leave me for him. Sweetie, if you're reading this, stay away from DeanO, he has AIDS, The Clap, Herpes, HPV, and weeping sores on his genitals. Also, he likes Chevelle. Just kidding...he doesn't really like Chevelle. The rest, though, is all true.

The gig itself was good. Rob and I had only played together once before (at The Bag, natch), but we had alot of songs in common. There were a few tunes that Rob wanted to play that I didn't know very well, so I played percussion. Big Jeff came up and played guitar and harmonica on several songs. I even got to play one or two tunes solo. My favorite part was when we played a couple of Tesla songs. Rob knows just about every Tesla song note for note, and I sang them. I was apprehensive at first, since some of those vocals are pretty high-pitched, but I persevered. I was actually surprised (and proud) that my voice held out all night. It was one of those (rare) nights when I had no problem hitting every note. The voice is a tricky thing, and doesn't always do what you want it to. Like Mexicans. Just kidding. But, yes, I felt like a million bucks after the gig. What better way to celebrate than another round of Crazy Angry Monkey Sex with Rad Lass? "None more better."

Sunday night, Rad Lass and I were planning on staying in, watching Adult Swim, drinking, and fucking at random intervals. But, around 10:30 or so, we got hungry. There is never any food in my house (hence my employment at an Italian eatery), so we decided to go to The Ringside Pub for a bar pie. Yes, we could've gone to a diner, but we are complete alcoholics, and we NEED booze (like your mom NEEDS box-[stolen from Rad Lass]). Plus, Spunk and Big Al were hosting the Acoustic Open Mic Night, and that's always fun. I like The Ringside-all the guys who work there are cool, especially Tony, The Big Cheese. Rad Lass and I scarfed down a bar pie, then commenced to drinkin'. Big Al bought us a round of shots (Yay Big Al!), Tony picked up another, and Justin followed suit. Good guys, one and all. Free shots are my favorite kind. I got up on stage and played a few tunes with Spunk and Al ("Going To California," "Good Friday," and "Bad Luck, Blue Eyes, Goodbye."). It was getting late, so Rad Lass and I headed back to Club Infartos for...wait for it...yet more Crazy Angry Monkey Sex. You got that right, jackass. We fuck a lot, and it's GREAT. Kill yourself out of jealousy. I wouldn't blame you.

That's it for now, wankstains.

All is well in Infartoland.

How are you?

Oh wait, I forgot...

I don't care.

Naw, just joshin', I love all of you who come here and read my nonsense. I crave attention (like your mom craves box-damn, I love that). You bastards should leave me some comments, though. Either here, or at http://www.losinfartos.homestead.com or on my Myspace page. You selfish pricks.


-Shawn