Last Friday James St. James and I took off a bit early from work to drive around the Big Funky and supervise mid day traffic flow, a 12 pack of Miller Light tagged along. It wasn't long before the beer started whispering sweet nothings into my ear and subsequently it wasn't long before I started making idle threats and insatiably purchasing anything that suited my fancy. I ended up purchasing a very nice, very expensive new bed. I call it the Gentleman's Bed but that doesn't appropriately convey how nice it actually is. Perhaps "the bed Jesus would fuck on" is more apt? I think describing the bed as the place the lord of hosts would take his bitches to pleasure them better conveys how plush, comfortable, and coma inducing the bed actually is. Now, if only I could get that god damn pea out from underneath it I'd be set.

At first I was thinking about appending a moral to this story about the dangers of drinking and driving or drinking and consuming, but I think I'll just leave this post as a strait up gloat. Nanny nanny poo poo I've got a kick ass bed and you don't (or maybe you do, in which case, "I salute you, brother! Honor!").