There's been a break in the continuum. The United States used to be lots of fun.

Jon Z, we think your troubles re: weird roommate and ex-gf and strange homoerotic missed connections sitches will improve shortly. If not, we'll help you drink it off, buddy. You could even come over and watch Sox Pride: The story of the 2005 World Champion Chicago White Sox which we just bought at Coconuts for $19.95, and help us figure out the equation at the heart of Canadian Mist x our livers x male bonding = asshat. Or you could just meet up with the strange missed connection fag and screw his brains out, just to have done so. We've heard of worse plans.

Rule #1: Never let a good man (or woman) drink alone.

Speaking of the sauce, as soon as we get back from Minneapolis on Sunday, we are going straight from the Terminal to the Myopic Xmas Bash 2005, one of our favorite parties of the year. Maker's! Indian Food! Maker's! Blue Moon! Cake! Maker's! Blue Moon! Maker's! Cards! Willie's homegrown THC bomb! Maker's! Cab ride home! Blurg!

We feel like we can celebrate a little six month anniversary today, give or take a few weeks. Count 'em: 6 months without a sniff of the ol' Bolivian Marching Powder. We were getting kinda wrong on that shit for a while. We haven't missed it. We haven't missed the lack of sleep, the crunchy boogers, the smoking hole in our heads the morning after doing the larger portion of a $40 bag, the fake elation, the bathroom bonding with strangers, the party turned vampire cold, the hysteria of more more moremoremoremore.




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