Here’s an excerpt from an entry that’s been sitting as a draft for far too long. It’s only the beginning, and I have every intention of finishing it this weekend.
For those who were there: yes, this is the story of what happened when the cops came.
I was not the only birthday celebrant at my party featuring the hot tub on a truck last November. Another celebrant was my coworker and guy-at-the-neighbouring-desk-at-Tucows, Guile, who shares a birthday with me. Yet another guest with a November 5th birthday was Ashley Bristowe, whom I met twelve years ago back at Crazy Go Nuts University.
“Ash,” I said to her sometime shortly after one a.m., just as the party was kicking into high gear, “you’ve go to try out the hot tub. It’s like being in a Puff Daddy video! Did you bring a bathing suit?”
“Bathing suit?” she retorted indignantly. “What is this bullshit about bathing suits?”
She’s actually quite demure most of the time, but gets all potty-mouthed when the tequila comes out.
“I will go in the tub…nekkid!”
I raised my right eyebrow, which I do whenever I am presented with an intriguing idea.
“But I will only do it if you do it too.”
“Bristowe,” I said, putting an arm around her, “I’ve been to Burning
Man, baby. I’ve had my wang out in a sandstorm, so this is child’s play. Nekkid we shall be.”
And in case you needed proof, here’s the press release from the office of New…
The saying is doubly true for anyone who works under Florida Governor Ron DeSantis: “No…
This recent article in the New York Times [it’s a gift link, you’ll be able…