Blanketing opinions that I'll probably regret soon.

Friday, May 19, 2006

Shit god damn, my dobro smells like a French whorehouse.

All right, I ain't sayin' who it was, but I recently lent my dobro out to a friend and it came back smelling like it had spent a couple of booze-fueled nights in some 19th century house of disrepute. Fuck. I wiped it down twice with a paper towel to no avail. I can smell it from here and it's hanging 10 feet away on the wall! Oh, wait a second, that's not the guitar that I'm smelling, it's the perfumey residue it left on my shirt from playing it for 15 minutes.

What the fuck.
As Becca would say "Why's it gotta be french?"
I see the sea claimed another life in the volvo race.

It did. I actually donated to his memorial fund. Also, one crew had to abandon ship.
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