2004-02-09 - 8:02 a.m.

This past weekend shall be offically known as the Lost Weekend. It was almost Hemingway-esq, and I'm sure that I'm only a Matador or two away from having old Papa lookdown on me from heaven and go, "Damn that's some shit."

In short: drunkeness, projectile vomiting, run ins with the law, races with airplaines, losing said race, photo finish of getting some Old Man back to New Amsterdam, no sleep, telling my Grad School work to fuck off, hanging with 50 year olds, yelling at 18 year olds, and, oh yes, mind numbing physical gratification. For the record, I made faces I didn;t know I had the muscle capacity to pull off.

The rest of this entry--which has just gotten way too truthful--and the weekend is hereby censored by the Ministry of Action. In fact, I might just re-edit this when I'm a little more lucid. Yes I know it's Monday morning. That's how crazy it's been.

It's not that I don't want to talk about it, it's that you really should ask someone else. The thing is, he's Evil.

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