I went shopping at the "Groceries For Way Cheap" joints today. Found some good bargains, as per usual. I always do. Two pounds of "irregular" bacon for $5.00, 2 pounds of decent coffee beans for $10.00, some Old Guy vitamins, a tube of Triple Antibiotic goo, some cookies or something but, the "real deal" was in the parking lot. As I'm walking out of the store, I notice a full bottle of what is probably going to turn out to be Wino Piss or something. Then I kick it a bit. It doesn't "move" like Wino Jizz. I pick it up. It's a full bottle of Tequila, a full, unopened, 1.75 litre bottle of "not half bad" Gold tequila. I check the cap. Still sealed. I run the dozens on poisoning possibilities and decide: "Nah, some hapless bastard just dropped it as they were loading their car." As it turns out, I was right. Not a damned thing wrong with it. I know the store I'd just left sells the crap. I also know it costs about $18.00 for the bottle. Fuck me. God loves me. God loves Tequila, salt and limes. I have the salt and limes at home already. The last time I drank allot of Tequila, I ended up in jail in Wyoming. It better not happen this time.
It is going to rain Pigs and Monkeys around here for the next week. Today was the Magic Window Of Opportunity. Get your supplies laid in, sailor. It's gonna' get weird out there. Not that I don't have the rain gear (or Tequila, now) but, it's always nice to have some "fall back," just in case The Wind And Shit Collide.
Go sail/fish/tend/cash buy awhile. You'll learn. Or, you'll die. There is no "trying." You "know" or you don't.
There's always the Red Cross for the fuck-ups.
Got batteries? Check. Got lamp oil? Check. Got wood? Check. Coleman stove? Check. 0 degree sleeping bag? Check. Long John's Clean? Check. You get the idea...
Listening to Wendy O. Williams and The Plasmatics. My Pal, Michael, got to work for 'em, a million years ago. I always thought the photo of Wendy with the Electrician's Tape over her nipples was sorta' cool. It's on an album cover or something. Mike was a drum guy, I'm an "image guy." Wendy's Silicone Enhanced Tits are so iconic. Like the Statue Of Liberty In Bondage, or something. Not that I'm a big fan of "nipple enhancement." I like 'em: "perky, pink nippled and not overstated." Some weird accident in a High School gymnasium or something is surely to blame for that fixation. Or: I simply find altered anatomy to be weird.
Wendy doesn't "sing." She "GROWLS." It's 80's L.A. Punk at its' zenith. What's not to love?
I can only listen to that stuff for so long. I had to switch Brands.
Apparently, my neighbor is having sex with himself. I don't care. They're "Apartments."
It has nothing to do with: "switching brands." Honest Injun.
Vinnie, in not one of his better periods. He's shitfaced. I still like the guy, though. I grabbed a dollar bill off a sword, held over the audience. Teenage Fool that I was. Hell. I didn't know if it was sharp or what...
Anyway, by this time, Bob Ezrin @ Warner Bros., had got ahold of them and the rest is history.
Batten down the hatches, Mate.
-Doc
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