Demons Are Trying to Escape My Ass 8.12.05
Last night after work I met up with mjr for really no good reason. So we had beers and a burger and mjr convinces me to have one more.
Which leads to:
• Seeing an old boss on the mean streets of no-longer-Hell’s Kitchen.
• Drinking with the sweetest and most affectionate kid, Sophie, from the HS—she was my favorite when I ran peer counseling.
• Talking to her ex-pat Aussie roommate even when it was clear I wasn’t going to show her that the rumors are true about black men.
• Being shushed a lot in the bar’s backyard (it was Rudy’s if you’re wondering).
• Drinking with the Drinking Liberally crowd (Schnapp, Justin says hello)
• Missing Councilman Bill Perkins who apparently rolled by the bar to make an appearance.
• Driving back with Arroz the Rice-A-Homie.
And today I am tired. Last night’s activities leads to the demons in my ass. This week, I have been in love with my flatulence. Not the SBD’s, but the sound and fury one. Not the ripping of the cakehole ones but the deep bass line releases. My flatulence is normally frickin’ awesome, regular and active, ready to draw attention at the drop of a thought. Today’s has not been as pleasant; it has been the funk phenomenon, the stankonia. Which is simply to pound in today’s lesson—my body just doesn’t process drinks like it used to.