Avant garde, no?

So, there I am, watching some crappy program on the teevee in the Lounge, experimenting with my shiny new dictaphone, and there's this other guy on the other couch... big bushy hair, sideways cap.

Anyway, we're watching tv, and then he says to me.

"Hey, do you smoke up?"

Dope lingo. The secret language used by pot smokers.

I responded:

"If by smoke up, you mean: Do I inhale marihuana? Then yes."

Blah blah blah blah blah... FUCK that story. It doesn't go anywhere except to generic drug use, and that's just boring.

I am sunburnt.

On my face.

My precious Aryan face!

Why? The medieval fair, of course!

No, not of course. Never of course.

Why the hell was I at the medieval fair? Well, it's a long story.

Or, rather, a short one. If a medieval fair is being held, you have no choice but to go.

There was sword-fighting (clang kerang) and... other things.

I am sunburnt. It hurts. The End.

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