Currently Reading:

Desert Solitaire
by Edward Abbey

Happy Birthday, Tony Pale

Tony Pale
In order to further advance the science of human behavior (and, additionally, to celebrate the 29th birthday of Tony Pale ), the Beeboy(!) Productions Center for Recreational Research (BPCRR) undertook a study last night to determine the effects of alcohol on human primates between the ages of 20 and 40. We treated our test subjects with moderate to high doses of recreational beverages, and carefully observed and recorded the consequent behavior. Our study suggests the following conclusions:

  1. Tripods and handstands become progressively more difficult to execute as the treatment dosage increases. However, when combined with group behavior, something like a counter-balancing effect occurs. It is not known at this time why this is.
  2. While beer, wine, and liquor are typically the prey of choice, the primates also occasionally pursue paper bags. While seemingly inanimate and defenseless, the paper bags actually prove to be quite elusive prey for the highly impaired primates.
  3. The size of the treatment dosage seems to be directly proportional to the volume at which guitars are played, and inversely proportional to the quality of the playing. It is not known why this is, either. Further research is suggested.
  4. At high dosages, recreational beverages are found to induce sleep in some primates, and disturbing displays of rage in others.

As further research on the topic comes to light, the BPCRR pledges to make haste in making the information publicly available. In the mean time: happy birthday, Tony Pale. You are a man among men, a mammal among mammals, and really amusing when you’re lit.

Unseasonably Warm, Seasonally Loaded

I’m not sure what it’s called when you have 65 degree weather in the middle of January. It’s clearly not Indian summer at that point. Even India ought to be nestled snug in her bed, possibly with visions of samosas dancing in her head. But whatever one ought to call it, I call it a damned good reason to cook out and play croquet. The usual gang of hooligans, assisted by the unseasonably in town Aloha Boy, whooped it up hot sausage and croquet style this afternoon. Tijuana car bombs were in generous supply, and Old Man Kelly was loaded as a gun. Winter doldrums have been successfully staved off for a few more weeks. Thanks to all who participated…