Hammer Time

What is up my Jazz Fans. After last week’s Outrageous week shenanigans I was honestly afraid I was going to be unable to top that. And then I did.

So this little riff all started last Friday when I was fried out of my gourd trying to come up with a blog before the 2-hour deadline was up—-when suddenly my bookshelf came crashing down on my head. Luh-ame. Long story short, I gave Questionable Snax a ring since my handyman skills couldn’t even bust up a wannabe-pussy-eatin-prankster. The two of grabbed some questionable snacks and took a spiritual quest down to the local hardware store, where, we, interrupted an orgy.

It was Ca-raze-Ee. I can still see them. You can still see them.





At the gym, in my coffee, when I dream. It’s downright frightening. There’s a lesson to be learned here. When you have a column frighteningly approaching its deadline, DON’T GO TO THE FUCKING HARDWARE STORE. Or you will die.

Join us next week as we prepare Harry Potter 66.6 for hands-free base-jumping.