I Disposed Of 7 Hooker's Bodies For My Boss And All I Got Was This Lousy Blog Entry

Well helloooooo there my children, how's life?  Alright that's enough outta you, it's my turn to babble.
I've been reading Scar Tissue by Anthony Kiedis from the Red Hot Chili Poopers recently and it's fucking excellent.

The more I read about his zany exploits (heroin, coke, more heroin, banging his dad's girlfriend at age 11, more heroin, and some speedballs for good measure) the more I catch myself yelling at the movie screen of his life. "No Anthony Kiedis!" I'll say to myself, "If you OD with that chicano gangbanger you're never gonna live to record Under The Bridge!"  It's a semi fucked up dynamic really, because though I sit and curse Mr. Kiedis for almost throwing a brilliant career away, I do it with enough caffiene, nicotine, and alcohol coursing through my bloodstream to kill a miniature pony.

I find myself wondering from time to time what would happen if tortured artists with fucked up childhoods would have equally brilliant output, had their pasts been a bit more normal.  Take Rene Magritte for example.

He's the dude that painted this

His mom killed herself when he was a kid.  She jumped off a bridge and when her body was found her nightgown was draped over her face like a veil.  Magritte had a recurring motif of covering his subject's faces.   For example, one of my favorite paintings by him is called The Lovers.  It features a couple kissinng with a veil draped over both their faces.  This brings us back to my thesis question here.  Magritte was an enormously talented artist, and probably would have been a phenomenal painter regardless of how he grew up, but would his work have been as good had he not suffered the pain of his mom's suicide?  I like to imagine that he (or any other example you can dream up really) would simply produce equally amazing work with cheerier themes, but I guess that's a hypothetical I'll never know the answer to.
Eh, I'm getting a little to highbrow here for my taste.  Dicks, farts, bajinas, anal bleach and queefs.  That's right turds, queefs, now there's a topic that needs addressed.
Queefs, in day to day life are rather hilarious and should be giggled at.  However should queefage occur in a sexual situation it must be approached delicately.  You can either: A.) ignore it, power through and hope the moment hasn't been spoiled, or B.) acknowledge it giggle together like schoolgirls.  I've used both methods before and I've found that option B. works a little better.  I mean, you both know that shit happened, no reason for an unspoken awkwardness, and hopefully you've got enough chemistry with your partner that you can laugh at yourselves.
So to summarize, Belgian surreal artist, and pussy farts.
Talk amongst yourselves douchebags, I'm gonna go read on the front porch cuz its beautiful out today.
-Pretzel

2011; Year Of The Granny Panties

I was awoken this morning by NOFX playing "The Agony of Victory" through my phone.  Someone no call no showed at the bar today and due to my room's proximity to Damon's it's slowly becoming my job to relay messages to him when he's unwakeable by text or phonecall.
I hate waking people up, I really do, mainly because I hate waking up.  I hate it so much in fact that I have friends at the coffee shop that had no idea I had a personality until they saw me in the evening hours.
Anyway, after I played harbinger of waking hours, Damon trudged off to the bar which left me here bored and car-less which means it's been a day of watching youtube videos and hanging with the puppies.

Jabba and Betty getting their cuddle on

The dogs are kinda weird.  They're stoked on life first thing in the morning, they want to run around, play, poop, eat, and get petted right when they wake up, but then they pretty immediately switch into nap mode.  Around 7-8 or so they're up and all energy for a while and then it's right back to nap mode again.
I mean I guess I'm kinda the same there, aside from work or band hours all I really wanna do is sit on the couch, still I find their energy fluctuations strange.

I'm working 9-close tonight, and tonight, douchebags, is Jameson Night.  Jameson is always on special at the bar but tonight there'll be some sort of schwag being passed out, and the Jameson Girls will be on hand to (presumably) pass out shots, which should be fun, plus I'm working with Rusty,so there'll be shenanigans a' plenty.

We've got a show in Dayton this Saturday, I believe the venue's called O.E.  so if you're in Dayton, cancel your saturday plans and come get fucked up with us instead!

I'm out, lather rise repeat you cockmongers!
-Pretzel