Our Friday and Saturday shows were so awesome that they're both blending into one big orgy of theatrical entertainment in my mind. I must have been buzzed from my impromptu sip of beer the night before because I accidentally knocked over a glass of Guinness that shattered all over the stage near the beginning of last night's Case of the Creamy Foam. We sopped up and covered the mess with about a dozen adult diapers that we had handy. (Sometimes audience members are so excited that they actually crap their pants, and the diapers are a precautionary measure.)By the way, I wonder if that guy in the audience that I sexually harassed last night is reading this. Hey, Danny, can I stalk you on MySpace? Can I print out pictures of you from your MySpace profile and create a little shrine to you in a corner of my bedroom? I need something to look at during those late nights that I feel a tingly feeling in my vagina. I think I have permission from your girlfriend. I think. And even if I don't, do I seem like the type of person who cares?
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