These are current events, anniversaries, local happenings, etc.
My associate and good friend Storm had a little run in today. Being a professional photographer, he “happened to be” at the Tower Records Playboy Signing tonight. so he caught some excellent pictures of Tiffany. Oh. My. God. I was just talking about liking Tiffany and that she’s in the new Playboy and everything then he suddenly comes along and sends me pictures of himself with her. Bastard.
I think she looks better in these photos than the Playboy ones. Well besides the fact that she isn’t naked, I mean, she just looks more natural. No airbrushing either. And those tits! I think the buttons on that shirt must have popped off. These are four of the fifty or so that he sent me. And of course, I bled the color out and pasted a tag on them for his benefit. But if you want to see more, you can carry your lazy ass over to his site and order the full size ones. Eat your heart out, kinetic kim:
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I was sitting at a bar with my cousin and a friend this weekend having some beers, catching up on stuff. Well, we’re kind of regulars there, so we get on pretty well with the bartender. Anyway, she comes up and says, “Remember little Tiffany? The singer?” I was like, “Yeah. Of course. I used to adore her.” She says, “Well check this out,” and flops the magazine down on the bar. Lo and behold, there in front of me are Tiffany’s voluptuous breasts. I was disgusted. I can’t stand looking at women’s breasts, you know? Especially when they are that large and round and soft, and when I used to be infatuated with said person.
But it’s little Tiffany. Remember the pop singer from about 15 years ago (God, has it been that long?) who sang such hits as “I Think We’re Alone Now” and “I Saw Him Standing There”? When I was thirteen I was in love with her. I had Tiffany posters and her album, and many fantasies to boot. She was hotter than the lit end of a cigarette. I even went and saw her in concert, and some band we’d never heard of opened up for her. They were called New Kids on the Block. We saw her at the Six Flags Music Mill Amphitheatre. Oh what a show. And now this. Oh yes, my friends. My day has finally come. (So to speak.)
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Well I survived all the drinking and all the parties and all the people and all the bullshit that comes with a new year. On new year’s eve we had about 60 people over for a party of our own. We didn’t want to go anywhere, because of the danger out on the roads. So instead we had all our loved ones and friends brave the dangers and come to us. We had a big bucket everyone dropped their keys in, and no one left until the next morning anyway. Most people passed out on the stairs or by the fireplace, the couches… wherever they could find that wasn’t taken.
Some interesting people showed up this year. I should let you know ahead of time that yes we did go to Bob’s Bowl-A-Rama. We bowled until about 9:30, then took to the house, as our party was supposed to start at 10. Well, we picked up about ten people at Bob’s who wanted to come along. Some of them old friends, and some of them even more. Embarrassingly enough, three – count ’em, three – of my ex-girlfriends ended up being at the party. Phew. That was some scary shit. Mainly because now they know where I live. There were no real issues though. (Not counting the part where Storm had to run out and roll in the snow because Marie caught his pants on fire with the incense burner… I told Storm I wouldn’t mention that. Oops!) Oh, that and when George fell off my loft and landed in the beanbag. Those little white foam balls will take the next nine years to clean up.
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Well, it’s Mardi Gras time again, gentlemen. And you all know what that means. I think it’s the main reason most men even attend a Mardi Gras festival. Yep. Tits.
When and where else can a man stand around on the street and watch girls lift their shirts and let their boobs bounce out just to get beads? You really can’t beat it. Course, I have never gone to Mardi Gras. I have been to smaller versions of the same thing, locally. Every year in Denton is the Fry Street Fair. 
And if you have ever been there, you know there are plenty of women showing plenty of booby. A lot of them fail to wear shirts entirely.
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