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Sunday, March 28
I usually don't like writing about myself. I mean who wants to hear if my poopie was corn filled or if I shaved my balls in the shower, but like my hero Jerri Blank, I've got something to say. I've had it with Washington, DC's nightlife. I'm getting old and I'm slowly becoming a curmudgeon. If I wanted to go bowling in my adopted city of New York I would have to take out a loan from the bank and THEN sell my sperm. Sooos, everythyme I go back to my suburban roots of Merryland, all I want to do is go bowling for peanuts (not actual peanuts, but come to think of it, that's not such a bad idea). I could only convince one out of my 10 zillion friends to join me in a night of foot fungus and bruised wrists. Since we're not gay lovers (although at this point, I'm open to beastility), we opted to meet everyone else downtown in this uber-hip area of DC called Adams Morgan. After looking for a parking space for over an hour in a crappy 4-speed Toyota Tercel, with my pants about to be soaked in the 3 large Mountain Dews I gulped, I finally found a spot. And my reward for all that trouble? | |  Fuck Dipping Dots. This shit be the real future of ice cream. |
Meeting up with my palsz at this dump hole (no, not Veteran's stadium) bar called Millie & Al's. The place was packed to the teeth with polo shirt sportin' WASPy looking fellas and lumpy chicks in tight shirts out on bachelorette parties. After developing a major case of swamp-ass, I decided that I'd had enough. From this day forward, the only time I will ever go to DC at night will be to break into the National Air & Space Museum to feed my freeze-dried ice cream addiction. Bowling forever!!! See you at Lebowski Fest.
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