Hey party people, sorry for the late post this morning. I hit the Zima a little hard last night and ended up sleeping in a dumpster. It is surprising how dark it can be when you are buried underneath a dead prostitute and 50lbs of half eaten shellfish. Today marks the calm before the storm. Cabbies are still being polite, girls are still talking to me, and you can still buy a beer for under $10.00. But like the proverbial storm on the horizon, you can feel in the air this is all about to change.
The shitstorm that is the Super Bowl is about to unleash it’s fury and if I can meet up with Insidious Dr. Fu Man Chu, we will ride out the storm huddled together in a windowless room. Of course that windowless room is a strip club, and by huddled together, I mean buried in the finest booze, caviar and women our 260 million dollars can buy.
I just checked my pager, it’s Fu Man Chu with a *911. He, along with the other 20 million people expected in Southern Florida this weekend, have arrived. We shall hit up some of the minute golf courses I have been scouting this week and then to South Beach to find out just how easy Jamie Presley is.
1 comment:
The storm is what we live for GO BEARS!
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