April 2009
Ouzo shots and lamb on a stick. Capping this trip off in style.
Fresh(!?) snapper tacos at the bat themed Carlsbad Tavern. http://twitpic.com/4633s
OH: Good lord it smells like whiskey poured over college chicks. Let’s eat here.
Series of text messages from THE FUTURE. Lacking my just-in-case time travel password, so it’s not future me. http://twitpic.com/45rkv
“…then proceed to teleport your lardass out here for squeezes. END TRANSMISSION”
Attempting mental communique with distant feline: “ATTN WOODGE, maim hands of @jinnyjuice as her gamerscore is getting out of control.”
Pulled pork feast expended in quick downtown Scottsdale run, buzzing tourists by the dozen. Aural fuel from thumping @glitchmob playlist.
Take that Wolverine Premiere Photo Embargo! These guys were awesome. Hope it fit in their Mustang. http://twitpic.com/452ni
Kind of surprised I’m not finding any user generated content or pics on this shindig. Apparently a request for phones/cameras to be off.
Doubling up on pulled pork, watching these dudes break down the stage for the Wolverine world premiere going on right now here in Tempe.
Apparently my leavings have attracted the attention of the staff. I frantically skim up an armful to make a squad of tiny red golem.
Success! Only they aren’t attacking as much as furiously copulating with each other. Ew. On to Plan B.
I brute force a few laps without any style yet am inexplicably at home in the water. Like that vid of the frog in null G.
Pre-hike fried egg fuel up out in Sedona. Vortices speed consumption, hippy.
Tromp to the hotel’s pool straight from Sedona’s trails, coppery mud surfacing from places on/in my body I didn’t even know held the stuff.
Across from a tiny, sunburnt pixie utterly sporting a scarlett ‘hawk over a shared mound of hashbrowns/ketchup with her grandpa. Adorable.
I knock out a few laps, get the girl and hit the hot tub. Roll Credits.
The curtain in the temple rips in two, glass shatters, slumbering infants wake screaming. The now white haired staff gibbers incoherently.
I go all skunk-style-handstand to full on display my, now pruney, Hiker’s Feet.
This porkchop was twenty bucks and I just want it to be over. Eating out should not be a chore.
We just hit open freeway so the cabbie guns it. Suddenly all four windows explode and I make a startling discovery in the front seat.
Cab smells of bacon. I’m all pattin’ myself down with a paper towel to remove excess grease, preventitive style.
A crinkled, shiny pair of asbestos pants lay in the passenger seat. “Like me!” the cabbie screams, pointing down to his matching set.
I rip off my jeans in this impromptu wind tunnel, failing to break my gaze from the ticking LED counter mounted next to the fare counter.
“I show them” he says, smacking his lips around grease caked fingers. Good god these pants chafe. I hop from foot to foot as he finishes.
He follows, we bust out a quick soft shoe on the cakey, still bubbling remains of the crowd. Wait, this is the airport! Best cab ride ever.
A tidal wave of equal parts irony and hot, angry fat hits the crowd. I’m staring, hands clamped over my ears. Cabbie is cackling.
The cabbie is tying a belt to the steering wheel, I put two and two together and get ready to abandon ship yo.
Zero comes with a clank and a hiss as boiling grease sprays from the car vents. Within moments we are up to our belly buttons in bacon fat.
We are hurtling southward now, cab swaying with our bubbling cargo like some sort of bobbing reverse canoe. “Watch now!” he yells, so I do.
We crest a hill and a mob becomes visible in the distance. They are covered in… all kinds of faux bacon merch. Memesters! The hell!?
‘Working’ from home means correspondence between… loads. Had “colors and whites” typed but that doesn’t sound like laundry.
Dropping five bucks in quarters down the stairs is: a) adorable to the girl across the street, clutching sides laughing b) Just… sad, man
Destroyed Woodge’s couch corner with new Quantum-Powered DustBuster. He’s all mad and flicking his hair about like a ticked off tarantula.
Our Beer Brewing club is fun, but confusing. These people came over and helped me make a baby yet I’m here taking care of it. …it burped!
Not get their shadow scrawled on the walls of their apartment by unexpected Phat Beats. That’s what.
Vaporized by a 20 megaton drop I didn’t know was coming after blending my breakfast. What do people that don’t listen to music all day do!?
Well, decided to curl up in the shower for an hour or so. Weep this one out, clear the ol’ mind grapes. Tomorrow is another day right.
Small, well wrapped, sweet smelling t-bone remnants left on my doorstep. Some sort of Seattle hazing ritual? I’m looking at you @qnonymous
Intentionally seasoned, wrapped, discarded food scraps point back to more folks out here than I’m comfortable with. Can it be malicious?
