Sunday Funday

Hello,

It’s Sunday and for a lot of you who may or may not eventually read this, it’s a funday of drinking. At least in the city next to me anyway. The fucking St. Patrick’s Day parade. It’s a day when people pretend to be interested in a section of our Earthly society that is green and located in Europe. No one wants to fuck a ginger but boy is their culture appealing when it means you can wear stupid socks and hats while day drinking in the street. I really hope there’s a brutally honest wedding that happens a few years from now, in which, some best man regales the assembled masses with the story of how the couple met by pouring Guinness on themselves in an alley to go from dry humping to wet humping and that the way the inflatable hat one of them was wearing with the sun behind them made them look like a sloth angel and they knew that’s who they wanted to spend their lives with.

Meanwhile, I’m back in the bunker. I’ll be doing stand up tonight and yelling at people through a microphone and getting drunk – like a normal person. God fucking damn it. I’ll be heading on tour in a little over a month and I can’t fucking wait. Ten days or so out in the middle of nowhere where the only discouraging and hurtful voices I will hear will be from one of two places: my head and some nameless, faceless crowd member (possibly). At least then I can pour booze on top of it and move on to the next city. Any hurt you feel can maybe go away by the next hotel room stop.

By the way, I think there are going to be some recordings happening in Kent. I’m hoping to walk away with at least a good audio recording and some DVD quality video. Might eventually put them up for sale afterward. So please put your change in a jar from now until the end of April and you’ll probably have enough. You’ll have some documentation of my existence and I’ll have change for parking meters and tolls. Then we can both die contentedly.