Me, Paul, and my friends Mike & Derek drove down Friday after work. That's where the Bukkake jokes started. Just talking- not the real thing, of course. Stopped off for a break halfway through where I educated them all on the differences in beer that geographical changes bring about. For instance, Chicagoans do not have the opportunity to partake in wonderful beverages such as 'Natural Light' (made by Annheuser-Busch) and 'Stag' beers. These are staples of the Missourian's diet, especially when down on one's luck. Paul tried the Blue Pepsi, which he said tasted like Cotton Candy with a Pepsi aftertaste. Poore's Steak & Onion potato chips were a new flavor as well. Once we got near Jodi's house (my girlfriend), we stopped for some beer- Schlafly & Honey Brown for all, and we stayed up chatting about various topics. They informed Jodi what Bukkake was, and she seemed to understand fairly easily, with no need for further illustration.
Saturday, Jodi, friend Brandy, baby Colby, & I took Derek to the store where he nearly put his own eye out witnessing a 2.5-hour long grocery shopping spree. Mike and Paul wisely chose to sleep in, which I eventually realized was the healthiest choice for the morning. The midday was a blur for me- others started showing up, meat was burned, salsa was made, and much potato salad was consumed. Larry & Joe showed up, stayed for a while, and then decided to head over to the venue, where they were informed we were to be playing "NOW" (in the doorman's words, I believe). Unfortunately, the band order had changed a bit between Friday and Saturday. Mike & Angel had showed up by this time, so they had some food, we ran everyone else out and headed over. Walked in, tuned half my strings, and played a fun set for a pretty good crowd. The place reminded me of Riley's Rockhouse here in Chicago- small club, lots of black paint.
Paul, Jodi, Brandy, another Paul, and I went next door to Dapper Dan's. The first Paul had 43 double shots of Vodka. When he found out they ran out of Vodka, he blithered something about burying someone up to their neck in sand and stumbled outside to yell at people on the street. An hour later, he came in reeking of Brut Cologne and Jamba Juice and said that the Penguin had better shut up if he knew what was good for him. We smiled, he fell in a chair and we all talked about the five of us getting married and running off to Barbados for a few years. The other Paul is supposed to pick up the rings, but I think he'll forget.
Drove back Sunday. Stopped at Arby's. Not an eventful day. Joked more about Bukkake. Just talk- not the real thing, of course.