The test for a quality bully is how good s/he is at pinning cruel-yet-painfully appropriate nicknames on victims. Example: I was known as “no-ass” for a good portion of third grade, not only because the bully deemed I had no visible ass, but also because I “probably didn’t even know what an ass was.” I still carry the scars of that torment today, which might explain my near-encyclopedic knowledge of asses, or why I always wear backless hotpants.

I’m on  a business trip to Atlantic City this week, or as I like to call it, “Gomorah after the flaming mountain hit.” If you’re in the area, do not try to find me, as I will likely be busy screeching in blood-curdling horror at the droves of 1,000-year old infirm, shuffling and lurching about the slot machines with their oxygen tanks and missing arms.
<3 Mike

SONGS FOR WEDS.