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I'd rather my mother read about my coital misadventures than your endless drivel. Besides, the dialogue between you, me, Phil, and the Taco-Bell drive-thru lady last night was way more interesting:

Taco-Bell: (squak) Welcome to Taco-Bell, would you like to try one of our grilled steak burritos?

Phil: Um, no. Hold on a minute.

Taco Bell: Thank you for choosing Taco Bell, please order when you're ready.

Ray: I have a dollar.

Phil: I don't have any money.

Ray: I want a number six, baja beef.

Phil: Yeah I want one of those too.

Tom: I only got eight dollars. Ray you have one?

Ray: Yeah. (reaches into wallet, hands over dollar)

Tom: How much do you have, Phil?

Phil: Nothing.

Tom: Nothing?

Phil: I have some quarters.

Tom: Shit.

Ray: Let's go to the bank.

Tom: Are you sure?

Ray: Yeah, let's go.

Tom: Get us out of here Phil.

(awkward pause)

Phil: Um...we'll be back.

Taco-Bell: (silence)

Phil: See ya.

(awkward pause)

Tires screech as we haul ass out of the drive-thru.

Incidentally, the first Rage gig last week at Brick by Brick went well. I only started to lose my flu-addled voice at the very end of the show. The rest of the band played well throughout. It's always very educational playing with musicians who are older and more experienced. Thus far they've approached every endeavor with a Zen-like calmness and are very understanding when things don't go according to plan. It makes me incredibly glad that I have a group of my own to alienate and lord over at every turn.