Here it is. Multiple people have asked me to start a blog over the years, and I've finally done it, now that everyone cares more about twitter. Hey I totally have a twitter, though I haven't been on it in like, a billion years.
So, what can you expect here? A lot of laughs, maybe a few short stories (which are short on laughs, but tough turds.) and maybe, just maybe, I can make you a better person. Because seriously, you're kind of a jerk.
I've had this strange fantasy that I can't stop thinking about over the last few weeks. What if while people slept, their facial hair left their faces, and raised hell around town? Beards, 'staches, goatees, even a few girl mustaches. Little punk ass teenage mustaches, barely more than a few wisps of darkened hair.
My DM at the gas station I work at is named Lamar. Lamar has a faboulous mustache. Seriously, no joke, the thing is magnificant. His mustache is so freakin' rocking that it has a mustache. Seriously, his 'stache has a smaller, even ass kicking-er 'stache. Lamar's mustache (which I've named, obviously, Ramal.) rides a tiny motorcycle around at night. Ramal's mustache rides in the side car. They cruise around, drinking beers, getting into fights, and being awesome.
A co-worker asked what Lamar had said to me once, after I made my way back to the register. I told her I didn't know, because Ramal was whispering threats to me the whole time. Ramal told me he was going to knock the crap out of me one night when I'm leaving and in the parking lot.
I believe him.