Learn Something Every Day

For instance: today I learned that you cannot put the convertible top down when the trunk is full of a coworker's luggage.


Tomorrow, I bet that coworker learns how much she hates me/broken glass...

Sarasota FL

Settle down readers! No need to get all huffy and puffy just because I haven't been stuck in a town with little to nothing for me to do except blog. I'm now back in a town where I don't know a soul, and it will finally allow me to sit on my ass and do what I really enjoy: Sitting on my ass writing about stuff that makes me chuckle enough to forget I'm missing out on great things in other parts of the world (the lack of comedy central and spikeTV also insures that I don't veg out too much).

I looked up a nice little Mexican restaurant close to my hotel, borrowed my coworker's convertable (Chrysler Sebring, don't get too excited), and went to enjoy some of my favorite ethnic food. As I was drinking in the sights (senoritas that make my pants want to get up and salsa dance), sounds (the total lack of birthday singing mariachi bands) and Pacificos, I noticed a couple getting ready to eat. Not by wetting their whistles with margaritas, but by holding hands and speaking to an entity that they have never seen any proof of it's existance (or so I presume...hahaha).

I really don't have any problems with this other than the complete lack of logic. Why thank something for the food in front of you other than the people that were directly responsible for putting that food there. "Higher entity" didn't plant the seed, fertilize, water, harvest, raise the cow for slaughter, transport, prep, cook or deliver that chimichunga to your table. People did that. If you really want to give thanks to somebody/something responsible for your dining, just politely say thank you to the waitress.

But perhaps that isn't enough for you, and you don't have the time to thank the cooks, truck drivers, farmers and ranchers. You just desperately need to thank something that doesn't exist but is still able to give you the warm fuzzies. I propose you thank the primary source of external energy that our earth sees: The Sun.

I realize I've sort of proposed a dilemma for the fun loving christians of [The] America. You are now thanking (read: worshiping) the sun. Some call it Apollo.

Damn, I guess that doesn't make the religious folk of today much different than those of yester-lore: worshiping that which they don't understand.

...because it doesn't exist.

While at the fine Mexican restaurant I also discovered a startling fact about St. Francis, that lovable ass-clown that spent his life with the animals instead of getting a real job (these days they call him "rat-man" or "cat-woman" and send him/her to the state mental hospital). Well it turns out that Mr. Fran had a trick up his sleeve for attracting said animals...


That A-hole had them addicted to cancersticks!

Bukkake Whitewater and Fishing Adventures

Come float Wild and Scenic Rivers and fish Blue Ribbon Trout streams with Bukkake Whitewater and Fishing Adventures.

Bukkake W&FA is operated out of central Montana with access to world-class whitewater, scenic river trips and top-notch trout fishing

You've been with the rest, now come float the best. I am, without a doubt, the BEST rafting and fishing guide in the business and I relish in sharing my knowledge and love of Montana (Also my love of Wyoming, Idaho, Colorado, Washington and Oregon by special permit*). Although I haven't really done a whole lot of fishing myself, I've watched some REALLY good anglers, and it seems like I should have no problem doing what they did.

Bukkake W&FA is also the only premier whitewater adventure in the state of Montana that does not require the signing of a legal waiver! Not only do I not force a legal waiver down your throat, I don't even have insurance. We will spend our day focusing on enjoying the trip and not the legal responsibilities of an intoxicated whitewater/fishing guide. Over the past year, tens of people have satisfied not only their minds, but their spirits and livers on one of my many guided trips.

Bukkake Whitewater and Fishing Adventures has been locally owned and operated out of Billings Montana by Captain Keev since 2008.

Thrilling Whitewater Surfing


Guaranteed Fishing Success**
(Just ask this satisfied client)

Pricing:

1/2 Day Whitewater Adventure - $50 per person (+tax***)
Full Day Scenic...umm...Adventure - $75 per person (+tax***)
Full Day Fishing...what the hell... Adventure - $350 for up to two people (+tax***)

Stop debating and sign up for the adventure of a lifetime! Any one can do can take part in these wild, scenic and fishy good times****. Fun for the entire family is just one click away (or fun for you and your paid escort if a trip away from the family is what you are looking for). Stop purusing the internet for porn, and sign up now!

Slainte,
~Cptn. Keev

*Special permit is $1,000...cash...or $1,000 worth of ZJ's (if you have to ask, you can't afford it).

**Success is determined by the Captain.
***Tax will be payed in the form of a 12 pack of Busch Light.
****No Cops or Parole Officers allowed on Bukkake W&FA trips.

Bachelorette Party

There are many things that I don't fully understand. I figure this is due to my particular upbringing, environment, intelligence (or lack there of), etc. For instance: I don't fully understand religiously dedicated individuals (christians in this example because they make up the most predominant religious following in my life until this whole Tsaoism catches on a bit more) that repeatedly bash other religions for their misguided beliefs without noticing that their beliefs are equally as ludicrous. Sure the details are tweaked, but more or less they are sailing the same vessel of ignorance and intolerance.

Another phenomenon that completely baffles me is the check-list bachelorette party. The event where a group of girls lead another of the same sex (that is about to make the worst mistake of her life) around bars to do a predetermined set of activities. These activities include, but are not limited to, "do a body shot", "get a guys underwear", "kiss a random guy in a bar", etc.

From what I've gathered, this check list must be performed while wearing a necklace of plastic cocks and a tiara that was designed for a 9 year old where the word "Princess" has been replaced with "Bachelorette" While these activities are often accompanied by the giggling of females drunk off of 2 Keystone Light spritzers, I cannot rally behind this sort of tom-foolery. Every bit of it just seems like the party was planned by a 2nd grade teacher trying to plan a PG-13 version of afternoon activities for her students (ok, maybe a 3rd grade party...at best).

Perhaps if the checklist was modified a bit. Why go looking for a guy's pair of dirty ass underwear? Do you really want that skid mark ridden wad of cotton anyway? In five or ten years will you look back and say "That was an effin awesome night! Remember how I managed to get ALL 15 of those items checked off before 2am?" My guess is no.

The list only really needs one item: 1) Drink and laugh until you shit your pants.

No longer will these poor souls be limited to a mere 15 points of entertainment for the evening. Only one item is needed to encompass all their good-time needs. When they look back on their last "free" night they will only have good memories (unless you do it right, in which case you will have no memories at all, but a slew of good pictures and a criminal record to prove your deviance).

The point I'm really driving at is that deciding how you are going to have a rock'in good time prior to the unfolding of the evening is not the way to go. You limit yourself way too much.

Case in point: I'm walk up to the bar to get a drink with a friend I hadn't hung out with since jr. high/early high school, and a bachelorette party comes parading in through the front door. They march up to the bar, and the majorette of the party blurts out to me:

Majorette: Can my friend give you a kiss on the cheek! It's part of her bachelorette party checklist!

Me: Of course...

Then all of the sudden there are about 7 cameras drawn from their holsters like I was in the filming of desperado II. These girls line up like bachelorette girl and I are Brangelina on the red carpet. What they didn't know is that the "Bran" was a Tsaoist.

She goes moves in for her picture perfect checklist kiss that will amass at least 7 giggles when it is posted on her myspace.

I, on the other hand, offer the bride-to-be a once in a lifetime chance to makeout with a long haired angelface the day before she signs her sexuality away by busting out a 90 degree spin right before her lips reach my cheek.

Bachelorette: AAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!

Bachelorette party: OMG, LOL, HEHE... (other capital letters that imply laughter and astonishment)

I'm not joking about the astonishment either. Not a single girl took a picture. They were so shocked by my little antic that they neglected the photo. I give them myspace gold and they squander it like a drunk gambler.

If they had only gone with my one point checklist! The girl would have sucked a little face, the party would have 7 cameras worth of hilarious pics (plus some post honeymoon bickering), everyone would have laughed (possibly until they shit themselves) and I would have had the opportunity to walk back to the table of people that I work with and say "Did you just see me making out with that bachelorette?" Everyone would have won.

Tsaoism works SO much better by example...

50 Posts Later And It Is My Birfday!

I just had another birthday (read: birfday). It was sort of standard fare. My balls got a little closer to the ground, my hair line moved back a little more and I found that drinking hurts my entire body.

Me and 5 coworkers (4 male, 1 female) went out on the town to celebrate this momentous occasion. They wanted to start at some fancy pants bar in some upscale neighborhood. I went along with this plan for about 3 beers before my need for excitement got the best of me.

Me: Fuck this place, let’s go find a dive bar!

I can only sit at a round, cherry stained natural grain bar table watching the Olympics for so long. I needed parking meter jumping.

We drove to what I guess is called the Gas and Light district. I personally haven’t been to many districts that don’t have light or gas. The place was sort of a concrete courtyard surrounded by hip but skanky/gay bars. My entourage had a hankering to do some mechanical bull riding so we went to a “cowboy” bar. I say “cowboy” with the quotes because it was about as close to ranching as a Korean girl in a bikini and chaps (sadly this imaginary Korean girl was NOT at the bar). I go up to the bar to get one of my many free drinks that I received that night.

Me: I’ll take a beer…

I wasn’t terribly excited about my drink-to-be because the draft options were limited to Bud, Bud Light and Coors Light.

Bartender: Just any beer?

Me: Ya…

Sweet baby jebus did I hit the jackpot! Instead of handing me some shitty beer like a pint of MGD or PBR, he hands me a something far more precious than a gold medal in the summer Olympics. 40ozs of highlife to be exact (plus or minus 0.3%). It was as if my long blond hair acted as some sort of muse for this guy to do the single greatest act of his life.

I wander around the bar that is about 1/3 full while I drink in the sight of a sexy wet little girl (wet t-shirt type, not piss her pants type…but we’ll get to that too) in her skivvies riding the bull in slow motion (I’m not sure if the bull was just moving slow or if my brain was doing me a favor and running the events in slow-mo). About 30 minutes of this sort of thing and then they have a guys’ bull riding contest. The other engineer in the group (real engineer, not a tsaoist engineer), who happens to be a hyper-sensitive male around the age of 28, is wasted and decides that he is going to whoop some ass in the contest. He is an athletic/competitive guy and pretty sure that he is going to win. The judges are 4 super sexy girls in duck skirts (so short you can see their quack), so I give “Engi” some advice.

Me: Take off your shirt for the ride to get some extra points on the scorecard.

Pivotal mistake (the kind that makes you want to rear naked choke somebody…but we’ll get to that).

He walks out to the bull, hops on, rips his shirt off and then tosses it.

Sadly, instead of tossing it at one of the fine ass judges, he looks directly at me and throws the shirt at my chest. I was so effin baffled by this complete lack of awesome sexuality that the shirt just bounced off of me to the ground. When I turn around, my coworker, who happens to be the project lead, is in tears laughing at me. I might as well have had a sign on my chest that read “Ladies, I’ll be your best friend and braid your hair and speak with a lisp.”

We polish off our drinks and head off to the next bar.

My Darby roommate, Engi, the Girl and I are halfway there when we realize that we need to wait for the other guys to close out their tabs. I notice a kid in an Affliction shirt and proceed to inform the group around me that whenever you see someone in an Affliction shirt, you instantly know that they are a total D-Bag/Tool (Try it! It really works).

Darby Roomy: Go use your jiu jitsu on him!

Me: I’d kill him!

Engi: I’ll wrestle with you!

Let me take a second to point out that drunken jiu jitsu is NEVER a good idea. It WILL end badly. It always does.

Me: Word. Let’s go!

We circle around a couple times until I get his wrist. I give him a quick arm pull and have his back in a split second. He’s looking around like a lost child, so I slip in a well placed rear naked choke. He squirms around for a few seconds and then I feel him get that getting all too familiar body movement that says “I’m no longer conscious.”

Darby Roomy: He’s out! Huh huh huh!

As if to prove my point, right at that moment the Affliction D-Bag comes walking by:

D-Bag: That isn’t how you do a rear naked choke. (God I hate those guys)

I quickly set Engi down on the pavement on his back and we watch him do the crazy face/spit breath breathing for about 3 to 5 seconds. The far away look leaves his eyes and he is legit again.

Engi: What happened?

Me: Sorry dude! I choked you OUT.

Engi: How long was I out?

Me: About 5 seconds.

Engi: It felt like 30 minutes. I don’t remember anything.

Me: Do you remember wrestling?

Engi: Ya.

Me: That was 5 seconds ago.

Engi: I WANT TO DO THAT AGAIN! COME ON!

I wasn’t dumb enough to go double or nothing with my drunken luck, and I put the stop to all of the wrestling. Time for the next bar. We had drinking to do.

Side note: I would put a 5 to 1 line on Engi’s cause of death to involve autoerotic asphyxiation and a curtain cord.

The next place was a gay bar, and by gay bar I mean their DJ has never purchased a track (track is what we in the music industry call a song) that was laid down outside of the years 1980-1989. I think I heard every single terrible ‘80s song except YMCA last night. I made the best of it by shakin my groove thang to every track (read: song) like they were playing the 25 Most Played playlist from my iPod.

After failing miserably to get two girls to come hump my legs on the dance floor, I went for a shot of cool air outside. A gay guy decided that I too must be gay because of my incredible dance moves (or he saw my polka dotted toes), and he started to put the moves on me. I figured that this would be a great way to get a free puff of my favorite herbal stimulant.

Me: Do you have any weed?

Guy: No, but do you want to do a line in the bathroom?

Me: Hahaha…I’m probably good without that!

He slapped my ass then ran off into the night. Keev : 1...Sucking Dick In The Bathroom : 0.

We shut that bar down and started to make the drive back home. We were all tanked and really had no idea where the eff we were, but that didn’t stop us from getting there fast. It also didn’t stop us from laughing out farking asses off in the process. Engi, the hyper-sensitive married engineer, took this time to start believing that we were all mad at him and/or thought he was gay. He stared at the door, Girl tried to comfort him and the rest of us laughed and devised a plan to get late night hotdogs.

We finally get to a gas station (Quick Trip…I now love you) and we all run into the place like we were kids running into a candy store for an all night candy shopping spree (read: like drunks running into a gas station for hotdogs at 2:30am).

So I was a little off. All of us except Engi went running into that place. He decided that he was William Clark, and he was going to navigate back to his apartment by foot. Never mind the fact that only the driver had any clue as to where we were.

We get our dogs and stand out front of the place and gorge ourselves. Those meat-tubes in bread were so enjoyable that we didn’t even make much of a fuss when I pointed out that Girl had in fact pissed her pants on the drive to that Wiener Mecca. Mmmm mmm tasty.

Done with those, we all agree: Fuck Engi…we are going home!

Not really sure why, but we stand around in the parking lot of my hotel for quite some time. We shot the shit and conversed in disbelief regarding Engi’s decision making processes. Around 3am one of the guy’s phone starts to ring. Engi is lost (gassspp) and wants a ride.

Me: Well…internet porn isn’t going to masturbate to itself!

I then ran across the parking lot, through the lobby, up the stairs, down the hall, through my suite and onto my bed. I then passed the fuck OUT. In stark contrast to Engi I was out for about 4 hours, but it felt like I was out for 5 seconds. Stupid karma that I don't believe in.

E-Harmonize

As some of you know, prior to this blog posting (yes, I do share intimate life details outside of this digital communication system), I have recently met my soul-mate. For those of you that don't know, a soul-mate is a your mate not only on this planet but also the magic planet that you go to after death. Many people even think they are currently with their soul-mates, but if you haven't taken E-Harmony's compatibility test and scored 28 out of 29 or better, you don't know shit.

You are probably thinking to yourself "...but Keev, you don't believe in magic planets". You are correct. And while I don't believe in this planet(s), you have to admit it is pretty nice knowing that I've got somebody waiting for me there when I die.

Unless I die first...

Fuck! I didn't even think of that. Say I pass off this mortal coil a few decades prior to said soul-mate. That isn't even much of a stretch of the imagination considering my current driving/rafting/feltching/longboarding hobbies. Am I just going to be sitting there at the entrance of a P.F. Changs's (magic planet location) for years and years, while she logs back onto E-Harmony to search for another soul-mate. Maybe not even a soul-mate. Maybe she'll meet some sap that barely pulls a 27 out of 29 matches who is into cryogenics. I could be waiting for hundreds or years in hopes that a massive power failure allows the freezers enough time to thaw everyone, release them from the clasp of cryopreservation and kill my soul-mate off in order for us to live (not-live?) happily ever after!

(deep breath)

Sorry. This is my first soul-mate, and it has me a touch freaked out. It goes against my typical Tsaoist beliefs that everything in the universe is constantly changing. All of my reasoning for being an adaptive human being has sort of been thrown out the window. It's just that we lined up on 28 out of 29 traits! We were meant for each other! It's just science...boring, but my life. The point is, E-Harmony has showed me what it has shown thousands of others: Your soul-mate is out there. It just takes the internets to find him/her/other.

Now you would think that after getting the results of our compatability test it would be all fun and games. That we would no longer have to work for a living and we could sit around and drink alcoholic beverages that were born of natural ingredients with natural carbonation. That is NOT the case! I was required to converse, laugh, swim and sexually perform for at least 4 straight days (luckily some of our matching traits were conversing, laughter, enjoying water and sex).

In the days to come I will hit my most crucial test of all:

[From E-Harmony.com]Studies tell us that about 10 million Americans are regular marijuana smokers, ³ which makes it more than a little likely that your active dating life will present you with these questions:

• Are you willing to date someone who is a regular marijuana user?

• If so, how much is too much? Are you fine with the weekend toker? The “I only smoke if offered” casual user?

• What is it about marijuana use that makes it a deal breaker for you? Is it the stereotype that pot smokers are lazy? Is it the illegality? Do you believe that it is a gateway drug?

• What if the marijuana is for medicinal purposes? Is that okay?

• If you are a marijuana smoker, when do you share these details in a new relationship?

This caused a chilling revelation. If my soul-mate doesn't smoke pot, is she really my soul-mate? Or perhaps I'm just a shell of the soul-mate that I'll become for her once I stop smoking. I fretted about this for hours the other night until I came to another revelation. This time a saving revelation. On the same site that shows how to deal with these weed questions they showed a guy rolling a joint.



I just need to sit back, smoke a joint of what I can only assume is bird seed and relax.

I mean, 28 out of 29 traits CAN'T be wrong...can it?

RAGNAR! *kisses metal*

For the first time in my life, I've dedicated part of my waking hours to running as a form of enjoyment. Sure I've run many times in the past: Evading the cops at the shutdown Safeway warehouse in Butte, at the losing end of threats made by various high school sport coaches and of course from the needle whose intent was to sentence me to 17.5 years of child support. This was different though. I just ran to run. It was both the means and the end. Sort of a quick paced meditation if you will.

I was contacted by my Cousin that is susceptible to arm-triangles back in March about a relay race that he and 10 others had signed up for. They needed a twelfth person to complete the team. Having never been terribly excited about running, I needed more persuasion than "come all the way out here and run for us".

Arm-Triangle: You will be in the van full of sexy girls

Me: Sold!

At this time I was in Hamilton and working out on a regular basis, so I figured the transition to runner-me from elliptical-machine-me would be cake. Turns out the muscles are a touch different. And a mile is faaaaarrrrrr!

These initial running pains were not much of a hurtle until they sent me out to Madison WI for work. This is when I finally realized that I had been running in the desert. I know Hamilton looks nice and green, but it is the desert. Madison on the other hand is a touch moist. Even thinking about putting on my running shoes made me sweat. The actual running part was enough to leave me wondering if my balls would ever quit smelling of cheese rotting in a Louisiana swamp (I can't reach them myself with my nose, but I keep trying to get them as close as possible to a girl's nose. I'll report the findings when I get them).

Couple month's pass of normal life, and I'm finally on a plane to Seattle (Horizon Air w/ free booze. w00t b33r). Two girl I've know from previous visits come to get me at the airport and bring me to the pre-game pasta feed. Stopped by a cool vista on the way there.



We all get drunk (or maybe just ArmTri, Aye, Yae and me...) and call it a pretty early night. The next morning I get up around 10am. Aye, Yae and I get in the car and start to collect the other 3 runners that make up van 2 (the other van left at 5am...suckers). We head towards the Canadian border for about 2.5 hours to the first exchange and chill out at a park by the sound somewhere near Bellingham. We eventually took the slap-bracelet baton around 1 or 2 pm, and I finally started my first leg (I was runner 11 of 12) around 6 pm.

The first leg for me started out downhill through some ranch type homes with lillacs growing everywhere. The smell was awesome and my legs were more than fresh. It wound around for a while, and before mile 2 was complete (4.7 mile leg), I had already passed 3 people. This was an essential task, because in order to receive a Busch tall-boy at the baton pass, you needed to pass a runner. The next 2.7 miles did not share the same aromatic/visual pleasantries of the first 2 miles. I rounded a corner only to stare down a perfectly flat 2 mile straight away. Cones on the side of the road as far as the eye could see. The lack of digestibles in my stomach quickly turned into a side ache that was only exemplified by the growing smell of cow shit. And what is this other fine smell I’m catching slight whiffs of? The glorious olfactory sensations of road kill skunks. Ahhh…Drink. It. In.

I finished the first leg with 5 passes and I wasn’t passed at all. Got my Busch, passed the baton and prepared for more van riding nonsensicals. After Aye finished her leg we went and got some food then headed to the 3^rd exchange to wait for van 1. It was dark by this time, so we bedded down on some grass for a mini nap before the next runners showed up. The combination of street lights, people talking and my lack of sleeping bag didn’t allow me to catch any Zs, but I was able to get a badass Aye/Yae sandwich cuddle for about a half hour.

The night runs were fairly uneventful (because of the lack of light out in the woods at that hour of night) except for one small pit stop we made. Somewhere near an Indian casino we pulled off the road in order for me to get my naked Friday picture (even though it was already Saturday morning around 1am Pacific). I had two of the girls shine flashlights on me while another took a picture of me butt-ass nekid with my race number (105) in front of my junk. It was classy to say the least. After that pic we took another tribute picture for a friend that couldn’t make it of Aye, Yae, another girl and me. We all lined up in front of the car (for headlight lighting) for a group ass shot. I haven’t seen the pics yet, but I can assure you they are good.

My 2^nd leg started around 2:30 to 3:00 Saturday morning. It was a 6.2 mile “Hard” leg. Lots of hills and further than I think I have ever run at one time in my life. Since it was so dark out, the van would leapfrog the runner by a mile or two at a time just to insure the runner’s success.

I was kicking some ass on my run around mile 3:

Yae: Keev, how are you doing? Do you need anything?

Me (panting): NUDITY!

Aye: Fuck him…he’s fine.

Not only was I fine (minus the lack of breath and burning legs), I passed 9 people on that leg and still I hadn’t been passed. It was a kick ass leg for other reasons too. The entire run was along the sound and out in the woods. It was quiet enough to hear the waves the entire time, and the moon was full enough to run without a flashlight.

One more night run (Aye's) and then we take off to exchange 5. Yae is driving and I’m the navigator, so no sleep for us. We roll into a small town where there is a high school that has the gym floor set up with mats for the runners to sleep on. Sadly, someone opened a door that was still actively alarmed and the entire place was strobing and screaming at the top of its lungs. Mind you, I have an incredible ability to sleep through alarm clocks, but falling asleep to that sound is a completely different ball game. It just wasn’t going to happen.

We took the opportunity to go find a park and bed down in the grass. Yae was kind enough to share a cuddle and her sleeping bag, but once again sleep was not on our side. We would close our eyes just long enough to start drifting off…KAAAWWWWW!!! A fucking crow would just lose its mind. Not for any extended amount of time. Just long enough to startle us out of slumber. Then it was back to situation normal…tweet tweet tweet…zzzz….KAAAAAWWWW!!!! Damn you, you stupid ass bird! Harland Williams was right. Why do we need crow?

This continued long enough to keep us from any of that annoying REM sleep before runner 6 came trotting into the exchange. While our spirits were a touch hindered by the total lack of sleep, we still managed to enjoy our final leg of the relay. I even did the final leg in a sarong. Makes for some top notch nad ventilation. Got passed once (elite runner) and passed another. Final pass count: 15 passes, 1 pass.

The race ended for us in 26 hours (not bad for 189 miles). That put us 46^th out of 150 teams with an average pace of just over 8 minute miles. Pretty good for some booze-hounds with a running problem.

We jumped on a ferry and booked back to Seattle for a nap prior to our planned outing and boozing shenanigans. I was even one of the main pushers for this R&R prior to firing back up for evening drinking. What I didn’t realize is that I was about to get into all sorts of glorious sexual touching enjoyment. And while I didn’t receive that shuteye I was searching for, I did manage to release a firetruck’s worth of hormones into my body and that seems to produce a methamphetamine like alertness. Took a quick shower and I was ready to step up my drinking again. Well, not that dymatap tasting "energy drink" shit ArmTri tried to get me to drink.

The troops were rallied, the bars were patronized and we shut it all down at 2am. ArmTri and Aves had a mini battle of blackout bull run in the apartment that night and Yae and I were finally able to rest our weiry heads around 6am.

(speed finish)

Got up at 10am.

Breakfast at noon.

Hustle and Flow at 2pm.

To the airport at 6pm.

Flight delayed until 10:30pm.

Arrive in Bozeman 1am Monday morning.

To the office for work at 8am.

So from Friday morning to when I arrived in Bozeman late Sunday, I had managed to acquire roughly 6 hours of sleep. It’s amazing how little that matters to me when I’m having a great time. Good times, booze and drugs…that’s my anti-drug!