Picture it: Southside, Flats; 3 AM. I'm at a friend's house where a party is nearing it's last legs - coffee's on, people are starting to sober up. My friends Erin, Dan, Dunegan, Bill, Leah and myself are all in the kitchen when my co-host Becky comes in from the living room and askes me if I know the guy who's asleep on the couch. I poked my ( Read more... )

What the hell is wrong with people these days? They are a plauge on the universe. For me, lately the only thing keeping me from being a serial killer is my distaste for manual labor ( Read more... )

Last night while being a hag at the gay bar, I told my boys that I've finally finished reading One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez.  Not that this means much to them, well, they aren't exactly the kind of people who value the joys of reading - unless it's Cosmo.  Upon hearing this they decided to throw a theme party entitled " ( Read more... )