Friday Night

Ah, the high & lush life of touring. Filthy busses, grumpy travelers, frayed tempers, malfunctioning equipment, illnesses and injuries of all shapes and assortments, and not enough Odour Eaters foot powder to ever kill the lingering stank.

Yet still, half sick and tired to my bones after the bout with insomnia here I am. Holding my eyelids open as this rusting hulk of Detroit's Glory rolls down the hill. Perhaps it is only inertia at this point, I'm sure that the actual mechanical aspects of the engine stopped working many weeks ago. A lap top that barely functions on a good day but is apparently reliable enough to run the entire MTD suite and keep all the books straight. AAargh!

Have I done anything of interest today? Not really.

• Made a little boy cry by telling him he needed glasses



• Ate two chocolate and fudge brownies



• Called the doctor's wife fat



• Told another patient to go fuck off



• Almost kissed Pat Larson in full view of most of the staff



• Flashed Weasel (almost gave him heart attack)



• Tried in vain to find a pair of white jeans. Who knew it was so out of style these days?



• Skipped supper and took off without leaving William an itinerary



• Tossed a cement brick at the lighting console when it malfunctioned



• Watched Dave Lights skip around in a zebra print camisole set

I should get to bed. Any longer awake and I'm just going to end up wired again. Need some more pictures or something for the blog. It's looking all texty lately, and that just won't do. I really talk that much? Jeez, guess so. Gotta work on that.