Whine, Wine and Slumdog Millionaire

Pinche Quinestra and I are hanging with our wives and dirty dancing like Patrick Swayze (poor guy) while our kids are hitting our backsides with dart guns, which is kind of like shooting Jessica Simpson's backside (as per US magazine, and I have a subscription). Tomorrow is a big day, and I'm acting like I've got nothing to do but I do and that's a problem. Greg broke a telescope. $300 for him. Oh shit.

Every four months or so we go through this... we act like 20-year-olds then we realize we are 40-ish. Our kids are going to require mucho therapy. But you know what?... they are going to learn that friends are more important than just about anything. In fact, regardless of how pathetically you dance or sing your friends will accept you. Even if you look like a douche which most of my friends do.

I don't know if you can tell, but the top two paragraphs are written by two separate guys: Pinache Queefe and Vociferous Eel. We are 2 diff guys. 1 and the same at the same time. In love with best friends and life and our kids and all of this is silly, this blog. Of course it is. Slumming it, dog. We're millionaires. Kind of. At least with the fun thing and family and friends and this is getting maudlin, but who cares. No one reads this. Really.

Cheers. Greg is making a copy of the CD. More to come. Live is wunderful. Like wunderarts. Which was a wunder. Once.