xxxmas
Last Wednesday night was awesome beyond belief. I was privy to a show by the dubiously named DJ crew Flostradalmus, and their long-banged, bespectacled entourage. The town hall pub was jacked by every club-rap fad of 2005 and beyond. All the way from Houston screw, to Crunk, Baile Funk, Baltimore Club, Three 6 Mafia, Onyx, Freak Nasty, and …Gang of Four!? Yes, it was a sexy nerd affair, so I pulled up my sock garters, tightened my Croakie, sprayed on some lavender body glitter and straight ground on some film-school drop-outs.
When the room got shut down, my shirt may have been in the process of being waved like a helicopter, but it was my heart that has taken flight.
Two days later I was jet-lagged and sick: prostrate in the car of my wonderful mother, being driven home from the airport to spend Christmas with the folks. I sang depressing Chiristmas Carols with my Granny, ate homemade chicken soup, petted my geriatric dog, and rocked out with my awesome Dad.
Christmas was a full repeat of Thanksgiving’s excesses. I went into complete sugar shock on the 26th and hallucinated for 13 hours. In my stupor, I was beset by an army of Elves and Reindeer who danced around me wildly to the strains of "Make em Say Uhh." Joseph and Mary were turned away from the velvet rope at the Coloxxeum club, and had to spend the night at the Henhouse where Jesus was born in the DJ booth during the "Whoop There it Is/No Diggity " megamix. Three wise guerrilla marketeers brought gifts of Axe Bodywash, Garnier Fructis, and Platinum Rims. Linus had his blanket hanging on the left side, ahem, the Crip side. Tiny Tim saw the Grand Canyon from the seat of his Rascal Scooter. Santa Claus bled Grapefruit MD20/20.
Good Holidays.
Hey. God bless us everyone.
