Far Beyond Chillin'

So, I don't know how much time I have before the "Rock and Roll Cocktail" of various fluids and chemicals I took it upon myself to ingest at rehearsal tonight conspires to render me comatose, so I will type quickly.


After spending Friday night testing my limits at The Grasshopper Too, I woke up naked and confused Saturday afternoon, and promptly drank some Sparks (TM) to level myself out. This is not an uncommon occurrence lately. In my Infinite Wisdom (TM) I decided to go spend money I don't have on things I don't need. Off to The Comic Shop! After spending $168.00 (no lie) on Graphic Entertainment (I loves me some comical books), I downed (yet another) Sparks, and made my way to Haldyfest.


Let me tell you something, sugarbumps, The Haldys don't fuck around. Three kegs, plenty of food (much of it provided by Anthony Francos), Volleyball, Horseshoes, two Beerpong tables, Jello shots, ample parking, space for tents (for those folks too hammered to venture home), a live band (whose name escapes me, but they were pretty fucking good), friendly people, cute chicks, and no Police Interference.


All three Haldy Gals were in attendance, each radiant and charming to the last. Momma and Poppa Haldy were kickass hosts, and even stayed up past their bedtime to indulge in some Beerpong. I reconnected with some people I haven't seen in awhile (Geeper!), and met many more new and interesting individuals who expressed interest in making The BAG their new Thursday night destination. Groovy.


Haldyfest was a Good Time.


So good, in fact, that I decided to spend Sunday sitting in the Sun on my deck, drinking Sparks (I sense a trend), listening to John Scofield albums, and diving headlong into the stack of comic books that pretty much devoured the money that would've been more responsibly spent paying off some of my Epic and Tragic Credit Card Debt.


Fuck that shit.


Comic Books rule.


I would like to write more (on this day), but that "Cocktail" I referenced earlier is kicking in, and my already tenuous grasp on "reality" is slipping away. Much like Lance Bass' female fan base.

Wow- I must be wasted to reference Lance Bass.

He's gay, you know.

Like, for real, out of the closet gay.

Its funny, I kind of figured as much, because halfway through the blowjob, he kept looking up at me with this loving expression in his eyes, and I was all like "Dude- don't look at me, I'm busy thinking about Justin Timberlake!"

"You fag!"


Friggin' Vicodin...