Embassy row
the fumes they lay low
On lanes that are wide
where the limousines glide
On the wrought-iron gates
and the bone china plates
And don’t forget your manners
where the anthems play
Monday, April 28, 2003 Not unlike my normal life, my last summer vacation (a week at the exotic Club Med Resort in the caribbean) resulted in no sex of any kind, in addition to a significant decrease in the amount of masturbation. Sure, it's not like I didn't have my chances. For example, a girl we affectionately nicknamed 'Psycho Killer' because of her crazy stares, the creepy stab wound down the side of her leg, and her ridiculously fat friend. Actually the friend had nothing to do with the nickname, but I felt it was an important detail. There was also the spunky, 45 year old red head who wanted to try a three-way with me and Frank. The worst part about that situation was, given the choice between the red head and Frank, I think I would have just ended up dry humping Frank's leg the whole time.
So let's try this again. This year, the plan involves a road trip up the coast of the Pacific Northwest. You see...rather than basing the desirablity of a destination on the chance I will have sex, which is clearly 0% based on experience, logic, and a survey I handed out recently, I'm expecting this trip to kick ass for things I know I can attain...alcohol, drugs, and alcohol. But if for some reason, such as all the planets aligning (especially Uranus), a girl presents her baginas to me, I guarantee that it will be the best five seconds of sex that girl has ever experienced. Sure, since she will probably be under 15, it will be the only 5 seconds of sex she's ever experienced...but I still stand by my irrational boast.
Thursday, April 17, 2003 I found thirty-three dollars in the first pair of short pants I wore this season. Huzzah! In unrelated news, this cat is gonna be eating Fancy Feast out of a straw.
Wednesday, April 16, 2003 I'd also like to add a new segment to the house of thrill, entitled...
Commercials I Fucking Love
For the first commercial in this segment, I'd like to discuss the Jolly Rancher Pre-Teen Breakdance commercial. I fucking love this commercial. I particularly love the part where the pre-teen asian girl starts breakdancing, and her friends start throwing jolly ranchers at her. Fucking brilliant! I know that if I was hanging out on the streets, and saw some pre-teen asian chick breakdancing, I'd whip hard candy at her fat ass too! Stupid bitch.
Monday, April 14, 2003 If Field Day Festival were a woman, I'd have sex with it. And like most of the women I've had sex with, it's gonna cost me around $200.
Ba-dum-pa!
Anywho, as I sit here pondering the wonderful times ahead at what will certainly be the music event of the summer, I can't help reminiscing on my last summer music festival, The Great Went. Here are the only memories I have left from a very fuzzy weekend...
Mike's weekend long stomach pains. Fucking pussy.
My half hour ordeal in the porto potty. You would think the festival organizers would understand that most of the people in the porto potties will be under the influence of a variety of drugs, and would therefore require porto potties with locks that are easier to operate.
The laughter. Oh God the laughter. Sweet Jesus, Tom, we need to shroom again.
The day that Joseph got his nickname, "Two bags of shrooms" Joe. Or "Two-Bag", for short.
Eating lunch in Canada! Huzzah!
Buying Canadian cigarrettes with a warning label indicating that "These cigarettes will kill you".
Trying to explain to customs, as we crossed the border back into the U.S., why Mike needed that epinephrine pen for his peanut allergy. Fucking pussy. The bags of weed, however, didn't seem to be an issue.
The big black guy who hung out in our van and sold my brother "Weed on a stick". I knew that guy was full of shit.
Driving home and being told by my brother's friend to "Drive as fast as you want man, there's no cops on the Palisades Parkway".
