Those were the ingredients to my Sunday afternoon working on the deck. I work as a bartender, i.e., I furnish persons with a substance that, if imbibed enough, will kill them. Fantastic, living the dream.
When the propane-fueled out-door-heating-lamp "popped," panic fucked the reason of all those around and Gary threw his drink (Captain Morgan and Diet Coke) at the flames coming from the massive propane tank. Then Murphy didn't show up, the tank didn't explode. (The "pop" was the nozzle burning then popping off the valve.) Gary will go on living the rest of his life, and I'll forever remember this time as 0.
From now on, everyday I live is another day Gary and his Foreigner-thick mustache with matching (self)feathered hair didn't blow my dumb ass up while I was poisoning people for profit.
Sometimes I just feel like the dead-weight in the Ant Farm of God, except for...
Cubs took over 1st place. We suck and we're in first. Cardinals take it in their Pujols!
What I'm listening to: The Dead Weather, Ratatat, The Mars Volta, The Octopus Project, a little TV on the Radio and some Medeski, Martin and Wood, you should too.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
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