More Balls
ajax says my blog needs more balls.
balls to that, i say.
and balls to the urban iditarod.
after trying the soft sell, the hard sell, the bait n' switch, and the dangling of sexual favors i am now officially abandoning my idea to front a team for the race.
the race tomorrow.
i'm still going, mind you. just i give up on trying to organize anyone. after all my work we were down to josh, his not-really-into-it wife nikki, kathrin, and two of her friends whom i haven't met. then, the final straw, josh says he has to work until 9:00 tonight. in San Jose.
so that means i'd need to steal a cart myself and organize the decoration with three people who've never run the iditarod before and who haven't even seen Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas. and nikki who doesn't drink.
the fun-o-meter offically red-lined.
so fuck it. i've got a Hunter S. Thompson costume. i've got a leather satchel that will be good for carrying a bottle of tequila and cigarettes and assorted pills. i will run solo. without a cart. gonzo-style.
then i will relieve myself publicly and, just for ajax, expose my balls.
this means i now have tonight free! ah, blissful freedom. should i lie about the house and crank the doobie brothers? should i go stuff myself with day-old sushi? should i expose my balls?
maybe i will go see an exceptionally bad example of modern cinema. i'm sure one is playing.
even if the iditarod is a bit of a wash this year, hope remains.
that hope is called Punk Rock Kickball.
didn't you hear? punk rock is dead. and your kickball is flat.
but i guess it does qualify under your 'more balls' rule.