The smoke that filled my lungs, and flowed freely in the air as it was shot out of the mouths of those who thought they could sing. My veins pumped alcohol and my eyes burned with passion. The tone deaf freshman that sang Dave Matthews and intended to hit every high note only broke the empty glasses of those with the empty pocketbooks. But as I looked across the table, I saw people that I have known for years, and people whom I had only just met but felt the same connection. A closeness that can only be tested by the many beers songs and mixed drinks, not to mention, once again, the high notes. Now, I am over the indulgence and I am quite well. We must do this again.

Send me a text message I just want somebody to talk to me at work. Thats all. Is it so much to ask?

Yes, I have almost lost all respect for Dana Carvey. Master of Disguise sucked ass. I just have to remind myself of other classics he has done such as the greatest stand-up of all time…. “Daddy, does God have feet?” and “It’s naked time.. ” Ah, those were the good days. You know the days when Brad Williams and I would cut up during French II by reciting the entire stand-up. Mrs. Montgomery laughed and laughed and then realized that we were disrupting her class so she would act like she was shitting a brick, but she liked it. Even when we would be in that class for so long on days, and start to make fun of the foreign students by saying words differently so that they would think that is the way they were supposed to be pronounced. Education = ED DOOK A SHUN. Then they would realize that we were joking around and say things in french that were different from the way they were supposed to be pronounced. Those were great days. Days before Felines were released from their sacs by the exchange students. The little kitties would come up to me and look at me funny, then I would smile and they would run away. Never influencing much on what I did. So then the night started to fade away after the 5 Southpaws, 1 PBR, and 1/2 smirnoff raged in my system. The only words were cries in the distance of a scary man wearing tights that was top heavy. The faint whispers of paramours in the distance caressing follicles and seducing the hard-wood floors. The silent blings of clinched fists tapping one another. These are the days that one never forgets, these are the days that one would lone for. The dim smell of smoke and empty bottles in the morning. Love walking lightly as to not make the floor creek to keep you from awaking. The soft lips of beauty touching your cheek. And then you wake up.