Happy birthday (belated) to YMike.

It's been three days in a row without a binge drinking episode. Coherence and lucidity isn't all it's cracked up to be. I'm sleeping better, though.

They should have a term for a blind date where you've actually met the person in person at least once. I think I've got one lined up for this afternoon that I've met twice. In two different bars. I gave her my number twice. I don't remember any of it. My last relationship started this way. Holy Crap.

WVLT VOLUNTEER TV Knoxville, TN: Watered Down Whiskey Prompting Outrage Among Jack Daniels Fans

This is outrageous. Knocking the proof of the traditional black label Jack from 86 proof to 80 proof. Read the story... there's a quote from the editor of Modern Drunkard Magazine. Sweet.

I drink Jack Daniels black label. It's the staple of my alcoholic diet. "Jack and diet" is pretty much all I order when I go out. It's the one constant in my turbulent life. Why fuck with it? Jack Daniels whiskey has been 86 proof since Tibetan Monks started producing it in the early 1600s. Four-hundred-years later the distillery in Tennessee is messing with the traditional recipe? Why subtract six-proof when that six-proof may be the only thing between me and a toaster in the bathtub?

Links:
Jack Daniels Official Website
Modern Drunkard Magazine.

CLICK ABOVE FOR STORY (WITH FACTS AND STUFF) AND FOR A LINK TO A PETITION.

Word. I forgot to celebrate John Holmes birthday this year. It was August 4th, but you already knew that I'm sure.

3:11am. I'm sitting back admiring the development of my kickass office. It still needs some work... sort of like the Death Star in Return of the Jedi. Like... you know it's going to kick ass eventually. Star Wars references, won't get you laid. Trust me. I maxed out the blogger system at 699 blogs. I drank at JNAU's place of employment tonight, went home, passed out at 8:30pm, woke up at 12;30am (four fucking hours later - standard length of sleepy time for me as of late) then met a friend for more whiskey. I'm sitting in my crib, listening to Blink 182, shirtless wearing a Hawaiian shell necklace. I'm plotting where to place a box of envelopes, how to redo an invoice, and watching my left hand shake involuntarily. What the fuck is that? I also get muscle spasms in my eye, which is a common malady apparently.

Confidential message: Okay... I'll quit drinking for two weeks if you do.

Now what? I should start reading something. I've got the Reno 911 box set to watch. I wake up to nightmares and sweat dripping off my face. It's 3:30am. It's 4:05am. Crap. This "Hawaiian" shell necklace was made in the Philippines. I'm yawning too much. My webcam doesn't work... i should call a computer guy to fix it for me. These computer things are complicated. I'm afraid to even touch the keyboard for fear that I'll break the computer. I miss my Commodore 64. I'm gonna fall asleep in my leather office chair. It leans back. 4:12am. sleepy. sleepy. lawn gnomes.

g:o

I love this picture. Thanks JNAU for forwarding it to me. I've finally dug up all of the office supply stuff that I stole from my former employer and have set up the beginnings of a cool office. My old rubber band ball and Silly-Putty are put into my new set of drawers. Between setting up the office, watching Star Wars and the Reno 911 First season CDs, I don't know how I make any money. Shit... I spent two-and-one half hours this morning at my friend's house watching Buck Rogers reruns on a big screen. Wilma's still fucking hot. Yo. I haven't pleasured myself to Erin Gray in fifteen years. God... that brought back memories.

GOOCH:out