It's 9 o'clock on a...well, Wednesday. The semi-regular crowd shuffles in.
So I know each of you is concerned about Lefty the Pit and his recent disappearance. I wish I could say there is good news to report, but he is still not back at home as yet.
Fear not though for I make daily trips to the Humane Society, have posted an abundance of flyers and have calls out to Columbia Second Chance as well as the mid-Missouri Pit Bull Rescue group. So, hopefully, there will be good news soon.
Now, for those of you who feel it silly for me to take the disappearance of my dog so seriously, I, of course, say Fuck You! That said, here is a stupid little bit of blog anyway.
Opening ceremonies for the Winter Olympics began today in Torino, or Turin if you're exacting in nature and want to actually be correct. Once again I am disappointed to hear the skeleton event has nothing to do with bones, although I keep hear the snowboarders like to have bones after competing. Not sure what that means.
So the other night I went out to Mojo's to see my pal Travis's band. They are called Sneath. Not sure what that means either. Anyway....
You ever been to a concert and seen the one guy who, regardless of indoor or outdoor temperatures, wears a black hoodie, which is bedecked with patches and buttons of punk bands (one of two of which you've never heard of)? Of course you have, he's at every concert.
The guy I saw, actually had two Rancid patches on one sleeve. That's PUNK ROCK! Symmetry be damned! (Imagine devil's horns being, as the kids say, thrown.)
So Travis's band was pretty good. It was my most sincere wish to give them the mad props after every tune. Here, however, was my dilemma. I was standing in the middle of the floor area. No tables were nearby. A drink was in hand. How does one clap in such a situation? I can't sit the drink down, are you nuts? Clapping against the glass 1, creates no tangible sound and 2, sloshes/splashes my booze about. A friend suggested the wild slapping of the leg. Uhh...no.
The only even slightly intriguing option was repeated high-fives with fellow friends of Travis who were also at the show. We declined. So the first two or three songs went with sans clapping, but were given a half-hearted Woo-Hoo.
So there were these girls at the show who, well let's say they were a few cocktails into their collective evening. The ladies started their own little mosh pit in the center of the floor. Now, in my younger days I did venture into the occasional mosh pit. I never engaged in chest bumping/rubbing with fellow mosh pitters.
Yup...you guessed it, the girls, one of whom almost looked a little like Ashlee Simpson were bumping their....well, their boobies.
They also bumped into other people, very nearly starting an all-girl riot in the middle of Mojo's. Sadly, cooler heads prevailed.
Another of the bands playing this night was called Happy Endings. Didn't stay to see them, so I have no report as to their quality. That said, their band name does refer to hand-jobs from, presumably, Asian massage therapists. That's sort of interesting.
Have you ever noticed just how many Asian "Saunas" there happen to be in Columbia. You can't swing a dead cat without hitting a Thai hooker.
[Editor's Note: That should really read "relaxation therapist" or "self-gratification device."]
In case you were curious. The blogs have slowed due, in part, to my depression over the disappearance of Lefty, but also to the official ban of access to the information superhighway at the front desk of the Holiday Inn Select. This blog is being done at the desk in a...well, let's call it a clandestine mode. Exciting. It's like I'm James Blog, Double-O Dork.
Well, that was my night, the other night. Not much to say about last night. Comedy is tonight and the Un is tomorrow. Swinger's, or is it Swingers', Night baby. So I might have more to come soon.
Hey, you know that Beatles muzak I've complained of before? "The Ballad of John and Yoko" just came on. Hadn't heard that one yet. Talk about crucifying....
$5 Cover at the Door. $2 Surcharge for Minors.
JeffRey
Fear not though for I make daily trips to the Humane Society, have posted an abundance of flyers and have calls out to Columbia Second Chance as well as the mid-Missouri Pit Bull Rescue group. So, hopefully, there will be good news soon.
Now, for those of you who feel it silly for me to take the disappearance of my dog so seriously, I, of course, say Fuck You! That said, here is a stupid little bit of blog anyway.
Opening ceremonies for the Winter Olympics began today in Torino, or Turin if you're exacting in nature and want to actually be correct. Once again I am disappointed to hear the skeleton event has nothing to do with bones, although I keep hear the snowboarders like to have bones after competing. Not sure what that means.
So the other night I went out to Mojo's to see my pal Travis's band. They are called Sneath. Not sure what that means either. Anyway....
You ever been to a concert and seen the one guy who, regardless of indoor or outdoor temperatures, wears a black hoodie, which is bedecked with patches and buttons of punk bands (one of two of which you've never heard of)? Of course you have, he's at every concert.
The guy I saw, actually had two Rancid patches on one sleeve. That's PUNK ROCK! Symmetry be damned! (Imagine devil's horns being, as the kids say, thrown.)
So Travis's band was pretty good. It was my most sincere wish to give them the mad props after every tune. Here, however, was my dilemma. I was standing in the middle of the floor area. No tables were nearby. A drink was in hand. How does one clap in such a situation? I can't sit the drink down, are you nuts? Clapping against the glass 1, creates no tangible sound and 2, sloshes/splashes my booze about. A friend suggested the wild slapping of the leg. Uhh...no.
The only even slightly intriguing option was repeated high-fives with fellow friends of Travis who were also at the show. We declined. So the first two or three songs went with sans clapping, but were given a half-hearted Woo-Hoo.
So there were these girls at the show who, well let's say they were a few cocktails into their collective evening. The ladies started their own little mosh pit in the center of the floor. Now, in my younger days I did venture into the occasional mosh pit. I never engaged in chest bumping/rubbing with fellow mosh pitters.
Yup...you guessed it, the girls, one of whom almost looked a little like Ashlee Simpson were bumping their....well, their boobies.
They also bumped into other people, very nearly starting an all-girl riot in the middle of Mojo's. Sadly, cooler heads prevailed.
Another of the bands playing this night was called Happy Endings. Didn't stay to see them, so I have no report as to their quality. That said, their band name does refer to hand-jobs from, presumably, Asian massage therapists. That's sort of interesting.
Have you ever noticed just how many Asian "Saunas" there happen to be in Columbia. You can't swing a dead cat without hitting a Thai hooker.
[Editor's Note: That should really read "relaxation therapist" or "self-gratification device."]
In case you were curious. The blogs have slowed due, in part, to my depression over the disappearance of Lefty, but also to the official ban of access to the information superhighway at the front desk of the Holiday Inn Select. This blog is being done at the desk in a...well, let's call it a clandestine mode. Exciting. It's like I'm James Blog, Double-O Dork.
Well, that was my night, the other night. Not much to say about last night. Comedy is tonight and the Un is tomorrow. Swinger's, or is it Swingers', Night baby. So I might have more to come soon.
Hey, you know that Beatles muzak I've complained of before? "The Ballad of John and Yoko" just came on. Hadn't heard that one yet. Talk about crucifying....
$5 Cover at the Door. $2 Surcharge for Minors.
JeffRey
posted by The Crazy Leftist at 10:24 AM
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