- The new stories should be up by tomorrow, as long as she has the common sense to pick out a decent netbook (I'm not paying for it--she is--so I don't care which one she gets. And if it's shitty, I guess I'll have to go back myself). I guess this means a return to blogging on a near daily basis (and no more shitty unedited email based posts from work), which is good news, I guess.
- When it comes to women, I work like a spider. Slowly weaving my web, and before you know it, you’re entangled and unable to escape.
- Just The Drunken Russian, Martini, and I tonight…
- The Drunken Russian: “Which car are we taking? A DUI will show up if a cop runs my plates, and you might get pulled over. I can’t drive because I am only allowed to drive to and from work.”
- Not a good idea since I plan on drinking…
- The Drunken Russian: “We can take Martini’s car.”
- My car? A shitty manual sports car. But hey, it runs. However, I don’t like to drive it when I’m drunk. The Drunken Russian opens the garage door, revealing Martini’s Buick…
- Me: There is noooooo fucking way in hell that we’re rolling up to a club in that.”
- Martini angrily looks at me…
- Martini: “What’s wrong with my car!?”
- Me: “Dude, I’m not going anywhere looking like my grandma is driving me around.”
- We decide on taking The Drunken Russian’s truck. It’s worth the risk. I am the epitome of cool, and that granny Buick is cramping my style. Man, I gotta piss. Right here, right now…
- Martini: “Is he pissing on the car!?”