Rough night last night. Spud came over with some particularly thujone-laden absinthe and all of the accoutrements thereunto appertaining. He knew I had a hiking date today and he was gleeful at the idea of destroying me in advance.

If it is true that one is the average of one’s five closest friends, I’m fucked.

That said, let’s do birthdays, which include a guy fond of zoos and organs; a guy who was into projection; a guy who was (((accused))); a guy whose birth was an event on the horizon; an OG drug dealer; a guy whose work was nothing to Bragg about; the only Scrooge who mattered; the first link in the chain that finished off Nixon; a pretty excellent woodwind player; half of the greatest songwriting duo in history; proof that shit floats to the top; arguably the best bass player in rock; and the NFLer who carried on the tradition of Mantan Moreland.

And lest we forget, Links.

 

“Stalled” meaning “It was all bullshit. Oops.”

 

Horrors. Hey, Team Blue, you have Congress and the White House, how about, I dunno, changing the laws? It couldn’t be because your biggest donors, unions, don’t want you to, right? Because you have principles, right?

 

Totally not like professional wrestling.

 

Dutch efficiency. Pity, this really was an excellent airport. Was.

 

The real pity here is that SugarFree had already outlined the story arc for The Hoodie And The Neck Lump.

 

So you hire failed and spoiled academics and are then surprised that they’re whiners.

 

Old Guy Music is a spritely thing from a spirited artist. Some will understand.