What’s crackin’, reader.
I’ve reached the point of No Mas with Americans and their bullshit PC culture.  And I’m increasingly inclined to have nothing to do with it.

N.P.: “Sixty Years” – Brian Setzer

Most of today has been dedicated to deciding whether or not the simply bitchin’ 18″ dragon skull is actually $100 worth of draconian coolness, or if I should wait for the bastard to go on sale.  I think it would really tie the rest of the Moonlight Garden of Good and Evil together.  I dunno.  It is pretty fucking cool.  And the garden is sorely lacking in skeletal remains from any species, fictional or otherwise.

N.P.: “Open Fire” – The Darkness

I’m in a bad mood, dearest reader.  All pissed off and inappropriately resentful of pretty much everybody.  Which is, of course, Not Your Problem.  It affects you only inasmuch as I’ll be using it as an excuse for my brevity here this evening.

N.P.: “Stray Bullets” – Tom Morello: The Nightwatchman

Drowning in a sea of words.  Is it ever like that for you, dear reader?  It’s not a particularly comfortable feeling.

N.P.: “Don’t Fuck With Joe” – The Blackwater Fever

Well, shee-it.  Today was ostensibly supposed to be an unbusy day, but it ended up being busy as hell.  Not pointlessly so…I got rather a lot done.  But not enough.  Never enough.  There are a couple of things I’ve been working on for you, but it’s been tough to block out enough time to finish either one.  Soon, I hope.
I may have decided to turn the writing shed into a tiki lounge, thematically, at least for the summer.  I got an absurd tiki god statue that’s eyes glow red to guard the door.  Next up will be a snazzy set of tiki cocktail mugs to accommodate the annual switch from winter’s Jack and Coke to summer’s Jungle Juice™.  It’s a secret recipe concocted by yrs. truly in a dream I had where I was doing cocaine with Colonel Sanders on the porch of his plantation and the two of us were arguing ferociously about it being impossible to come up with a better summer drink than southern sweet tea.   It was about to come to blows when an angel named Wazoo intervened.  “Behold!  I am an angel of the Lord Our God and my name is Wazoo!”  Which drew not the hoped-for awe from the small crowd that had gathered, but rather a series of malicious snickers, which seemed to really depress Wazoo.  Dispirited, he trudged over to me and whispered the recipe to something he called Jungle Juice™ in my ear.  Then he called the colonel a series of hateful names, gave him a wet willy, and vanished.  That was the dream.  It was weird as hell, dear reader.  But when I woke up, I rushed to the kitchen, gathered the ingredients, and made the first Jungle Juice™.  That shit is delicious.
And but so anyway, yes…writing shed tiki lounge.

N.P.: “Assume the Position” – Lafayette Gilchrist, The New Volcanoes

Busy again, dear reader.  I get a break tomorrow.

N.P.: “Born To Be Wild” – Wilson Pickett

Busy again.

N.P.: “Leiserdrehen” – Eisbrecher

Busy.

N.P.: “Gonna Die Alone” – Hanni El Khatib

I’m a cold heartbreaker, fit to burn,
and I’ll rip your heart in two.
And I’ll leave you lying on the bed
with your ass in the air.
~ W. Axl Rose

It’s funny, dearest reader, but that is almost a direct quote of what I said to my prom date when she opened the door when I picked her up for The Big Night.  So you can imagine my surprise when, years later, as the credits were rolling on the latest installment of the Terminator franchise, I heard my good friend Axl belting out the same words I’d used to make my prom date swoon so many years before.  It was weird, and my first instinct was to litigate viscously, but I decided against it.  That wouldn’t be cool.  Axl didn’t steal my words…he wasn’t even there on prom night.  I just chalked it up to great minds thinking alike and left it at that.  Because they do, goddammit…great minds do think alike.   Which brings us to the point, for whatever it’s worth, and that….
…it’s the phone…I gotta take this.  Remind me about the point tomorrow.

N.P.: “Don’t Bring Me Down” – Black Stone Cherry

I’m generally very unsuccessful at relaxing.  The last few days have proved the same.  I really tried, dear reader, to just Take It Easy.  It just didn’t seem to work out.

N.P.: “Couldn’t Get It Right” – Fun Lovin’ Criminals