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B dot S dot:
So there was no whooping this weekend. ARGH, hang on. It’s Thaddeus on the horn, with the constant requests for permission changes on the server space I’m just giving him for free! Damnit!
Okay, so we missed eachother this weekend. Doesn’t mean you have to like it. But if it makes you feel any better, I didn’t answer a single phone call while I was in Bork-Bork-Borklyn. From anybody. Also, get this, I didn’t even go on the internet ONCE! It was like vacation. A vacation from myself. And by myself I mean YOU! That was mean. I’m sorry, but it’s not like I can just move my pinky slightly and erase it like it never happened.
But, I did almost nothing in New York, and it was glorious. Hung out with A all weekend. Drank at her bar for all of Saturday. You know when sometimes you drink for like 14 hours straight, and you never get drunk because your pace is slow and steady, but then you get home and your entire body is like, “Grrrghgghghhrhhrhhghh” and you lay down and wish you were dead? That’s kinda what happened to me. I realized I’d had maybe 8 Major Toms (that drink Paul and I invented, just gin and Tang) along with a whole galaxy of other things I sampled. And there was a shot of Jameson at some point. But it was slow and easy; all spaced out like I was the New Horizons satellite on an interstellar cruise, sipping lazy drinks like distant sunlight.
Then some guy took me on a tour of his organ (there you go, right over the plate, buddy) which was at some church a few blocks down. It was super gothic and crazy and very English (he said that like a thousand times. “Don’t you feel like you’re in England? Don’t you? This couldn’t exist anyplace else but England and yet you’re not in England you’re in New York. But it’s just so damned English, isn’t it?”) and of COURSE I didn’t have my camera so I’ll have to muster all my powers of rococo language and flowery description to give you a flawless and utterly complete mental image:
Alright this isn’t working. I’ll just draw you one (see attached photo).