An Imagined Conversation.

"Awright, we're in!"

"WOO-HOO!"

(high five)

"Look at this place. What a fucking dump!"

"Yeah, where the bitches at? I need a beer."

"Me too. This place is fucking DEAD!"

"Well, let's turn this shit out, then, bro."

(high five)

"..."

"Shit. Why is everyone so quiet?"

"They're all watching that black chick playing guitar on stage. She's kinda hot."

"SHOW YOUR TITS!"

"Don't you shush us, lady. Me and Mike paid to get in here!"

"That hot chick is playing like Mexican elevator music or whatever."

"I'd fuck her, though. Right?"

"Totally."

(high five)

"This ain't exactly a 'bad ass' show like the poster outside said. No Hoobastank or Trapt or nuthin'."

"Yeah, kind of lame. Stay here. I'll go grab some Natural Lights."

Jessica Trouble

Jessica lost her Blackberry today. So that blows.
If you know Jessica and would like to give her your number, send it to jfoster@c-k.com. Warning: this is her work email, so if your domain name is anything like hotdudecocks.com or fistingjeffrey.net, it will probably be blocked.

(pictured above, a photo from last year where Jessica and Michelle went to a Jamiroquai concert at the Congress Theatre, only to find it completely dark and empty. Turns out the show was the NIGHT BEFORE! Yaaaaaaay!)

"Have fun with it."

(pictured above, the Hyatt Place team gets rebriefed for the 6th time at 5:06 pm)