Spur of the moment Saturday night I packed a bag and hopped a train to Philadelphia. I'm talking, ok, it's 6:30PM now, I'll be on the 7:40PM train sponteneaity (sp?). I never was a big planner.

Toastress picked me up and we drove down to the shore, to see the other degenerates in our lives.

Somehow, when we crossed over that bridge onto the island, we were transported back into high school. But with better clothes.

We went over to F. and E.'s house, that would be the couple that almost didn't get married last summer until I played the negoitiator. All is well now.

They've turned their basement into a bar they call "Gutty's" - with a pool table and All Metal All The Time thrashing out of the speakers F. wired down there.

Basically, it was a sausage fest with my brother and all of the guys hanging out, two having left their very pregnant wives home for the night.

Everybody was very drunk and very stoned. Toastress and I started right in on the cocktails, which in turn started off a rash of mixed and blender drinks.

Soon, F. whipped out his Civil War sword and the next thing I know, he and E. are drunkenly having a sword fight next to me in the kitchen around 2AM, him with the sword, her using the metal casing to duel back, me calmly holding my daquiri over my head with a cigarette in the other hand and saying loudly, "Ok, that's enough now, HELLO, that's enough...I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD THAT IF ONE OF YOU CUTS ME I WILL SLAY YOU."

Someone wrestled all 6'5" of F. and his mighty sword down to the ground and put it away.

Sometime after that, one of the expectant fathers declared eternal crush on Toasttress, while we were playing WAR, and openly discussed his fetish for self-love to her image.

We then had to sneak her out of the house, with me fleeing a separate exit shortly after.

Sunday, she and I locked down in my brother's crack den while the boys were at Gutty's watching NASCAR. We watched back to back "Behind the Music's" - Holla Down weekend, yo! Latifah, Public Enemy, P. Diddy, Mary J. - it's all goood. At least that's how I was speaking after that session.

I went out with the boys Sunday night, which isn't really a good idea after they've been drinking all day. I did, however, hear some good quotes from F.

"If I get to Heaven and St. Peter tells me that Jerry [Garcia] isn't there, I'm going to break this bottle and cut him."

ME: "You can't cut an angel, he's already dead."

F: "I can."

F: "Okay, if I get to Heaven and Jerry's not there, I'm walking out!"

F. to my brother: "If you don't come to my [annual] party, I'm going to shoot you in the head".

F. to me: "I can't come to NY anymore because I'm married and you know, what's the point of me looking good up there with all those chicks?"

F. to D. and Me: "D., How much pussy are you getting? PG - he gets so much pussy!"

F: "PG - I'm going to bring this guy from work up for St. Patrick's Day. He's a good looking guy and I'm not gay, but he's a good-looking guy and he has 120 acres of farm land, a truck and two guns. He's a catch. Check him out."

Me: "Doesn't sound like he's for me."

F: "Yeah, yeah, ok, maybe not for you but someone's going to snap him up."

Me: "No doubt."

That kinda sums up my weekend, plus my friend D. is on her way over, so I have to go.

Later Biatches.

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