Synchronicity

 

No Tom + No Gina Party = No drunken stories from the weekend.

Things should be different next weekend when Mr. & Mrs. O. make their triumphant return to the Lou. It seems like only yesterday when Mr. O. pissed on my foot at the Tom Petty concert. Good times.

The SOB T-shirts will be in on Tuesday. I’ll let everyone know when and where they can pick theirs up. For the out-of-towners, your shirts will be in the mail later this week.

There is one caveat for the ladies that bought tank tops. The manufacturer recommends not wearing a bra with them. And by manufacturer, I mean me.

Have you ever felt like Crowe Dog was staring at you, turned around, and heard him ask, “Do you color your hair?”

Me neither.

I would like to write more tonight, but I’ve been caught up in a nationwide prostitution ring. Okay, that’s not entirely true. I have some people coming to work on my kitchen first thing in the morning, and they need everything removed from the cabinets. As of 10:00 tonight, I haven’t removed a thing.

“I had my tongue so far up her puckered starfish, I carved my initials in tomorrow’s turd.” – Anonymous

With one breath, with one flow, you will know…