
Sunday, Sunday, Sunday you sultry little slut. You came too soon. Last night was a classic night out in the bubble. Rouleau came back home with a pocket full of vod, we went to a premier, stopped by the local watering hole to shake some junt, saw four cowboys standing outside Fat Tone’s, saw countless Peak Season, celebrities and then just said fuck it and peaced over to Panoli’s …wich was pretty righteous. But we got asked to leave when Beardmore kept shouting at the top of his lungs things like “Brocklebank’s such a puss, he should just man up and accept the fact that I peed in his shoes.. like WHATever”. Then -no word of a lie- Boozy The Clown came screaching in, half hanging out of a Resort Cab, all drunk on R&R, high on mushrooms, and wreaking of the devil. He greased us back to the Fart Barn, ashed his ciggy into Rouleau’s scarf, flipped us the bird and then sped away in a fireball of death and sorrow. Anyway, im just downstairs on brockle’s computer, beardmore’s peaced out upstairs on the couch and Rouleau and Brocklebank are still up and fighting about that movie in the back yard. I puled this screen grab off Brocklebanks Facebook which he foolishly left open. Anyway. Rasman’s part was awesome. Breakfast.