The Travails of the Astounding!

So I went to Harp and Fiddle, this bonny Irish Pub in Pittsburgh. What struck me most about the place I suppose was the infectious vibe of unfettered jubilation that seemed to grow with my bar tab. That might have had something to do with the alcohol. Might have had something to do with the 5 piece band playing classic songs of Love, Loss and Ireland, most in double time. Certainly had nothing to do with their hot-poker-in-your-eye prices. Either way, there was an air of merriment that I found to be most satisfactory and was more than glad to join in on. I met a new friend, unfortunately, I went sans-camera and could not grab a snap of the gregarious Cynthia, the 50-something dancin' devil who was all over me half the night. No friends, that's not pride in my tone, it's the deep shudder your body expels when you feel the deepest mixture of flattery and disgust. Flattery to have made such a sociable friend, disgust at the memory of her excessive crotch grabbing (hers), knee-rubbing (mine), and those gawd awful Virginia Slims that I WILL NEVER SMOKE AGAIN. Fuck you Virginia Slims. Ugh, they made my head swim, and my stomach ache. Serves me right, I ought to stick to the Bali Hai.

The convertible of the cigarette smoking experience. Anyway, it's 7 AM and I'm still up. Still drunk. Not plastered. Drunk. The 9 pints of Guinness put me in that happy medium of sweet intoxication, but the triple Jamesons kicked me ala Ash into the death pit in Army of Darkness. I somersaulted into sloppy drunk for a few minutes and managed to land on my feet in Eat N Park. A practical hive of gentlemen and patricians of the highest order. Not a rapscallion to be found, no sir!
Well anyway, drunkenly scouring my Mac for entertainment I found that I seem to have downloaded nearly every Calvin and Hobbes ever penned. SWEET!



Bachlorette Remix by Bjork