I like your sleeves. They’re real big.
I’m serious. Simone has to go. I want Simone in Vegas.
I’m laughing yet have no idea what you are talking about.
Look, I’m willing to drive all over the fucking place and pick people up for a road trip. As long as we agree to stay in tawdry places.
Simone knows tawdry.
Carole. Adopting the attitude of the blue jay in the living room. Because — well, what else can you do?
Today at work a Bruins fan tore down the Canadian flag hung by our VP and replaced it with an American one.
It’s been a good day.
Oh say can you see!
I wonder if Aaron would masturbate to that?
In a pinch.
Okay. I just don’t get it. A hockey team lost?
National honor was besmirched. Canadians were made out to be losers.
There are better honors to defend.
That’s why it’s reached the point of absurd comedy.
Yeah. I think I’m identifying with the victims too much here. Who, by the way, are not the rioters.
If it hadn’t been an actual real-life serious Destruction Party, I’d say, “Oh, those are scenes from Deron’s documentary! Cosplay! Reenactment!”
It does suck for the property owners and taxpayers and no mistake. But at a distance, as a spectacle, it looks like pure performance art.
Hey, someone got hit in the nuts with a flash grenade.
Riot. Mob-rule, scares me everytime I see it. During the Rodney King riots in LA, Danny and I watched, on the news, video, of a man dragged from his delivery truck, at a stop-light, passing through the neighborhood. A man threw a big rock and hit the delivery man in the head. The delivery man hit the ground and convulsed. The thrower, danced over him, then kicked him in the side.
Danny burst into tears. I held him. “It’s not happening, here,” I said. But it scared me that such things can happen at any given moment, wherever one lives.
Reginald Denny, Rick. How could you forget that. Nearly beaten to death while police just around the corner were ordered to leave the area instead of responding to help him.
I am not here I am not here. As you indicate, Shelia.
I did not know Canadians were as thuggish as us. And the self-named hooligans across the pond. One more little delusion up in gasoline smoke.
If there’s a question about the odds as to whether or not I would masturbate to it, the answer is… in the long run, the house always wins.
I’m gonna count cards.
Cindy, there are 52.
If we riot today, no one will expect it.
You’ll do great.
We can riot, count cards and masturbate all at the same time. In Vegas. While wearing maple leaf lapel pins.
I’m flipping cars like a mother fucker.
I want to kick some dude in the peanuts.
Shit, I’m back in jail.
Have fun masturbating.
Ok. My travel plan right now consists of Cindy driving to a location, Boston to begin with, picking people up and then driving them to Vegas and dropping them off. After Boston, she’ll drive to D.C and do the same thing. Then New York, KC, Dallas, LA, SF, Sacramento, and Portland.
Then she’ll start driving everyone home, in the same order.
Oh, and while she’s in Portland, she’ll probably start a riot.
Oh! I fogot Chicago.
I guess I just have to get myself to KC. Is that some kind of a cost-cutting thing?
Oh. Okay. I can get myself to Chicago! But really, Dubuque would be more convenient.
Also, Vancouver riot cheat sheet: This is why we can’t have nice things.
Dubuque then. Is there anywhere else she should have to go?
Deron, Michael is acting out again. Planning seems to be back to us. I will get to work on it as soon as somebody springs me from the hoosegow.
She’ll probably want to go to Reagan National to get Cece, but I utterly refuse to go there. She’ll have to make a separate trip to get me to Dulles International.
Comments are closed.