2nd Star to the right and straight on till morning.

As I've mentioned before this entire blog is a work of fiction and therefore no information contained in any article I have written may be used as evidence in a court of law. That being said I'd like to tell you all about this fucking awesome house in SE fairyland that I visited during some sort of post pub hallucination this last Sunday. I waltzed in sort of holding my chin up so that the liqour wouldn't spill back out and I could at the same time retain an air of dignity among the natives. A barrel fire burned near the decrepit basketball hoop and the entire locale smelled of the sweetest of sensamilla's. Dreadlocks abound and me in my best leather shoes; so I'm searching for somebody to let me into the scene. Party Steve is there and so's The Peter, but my main connection is Lady Fox from Austin. She lives in this part of town so she takes me and introduces me to all the in kids sitting around a large bon-fire constructed in the classic pyramid form with defunct shipping palettes.
As I'm warming up and getting into some good conversation I ask this one girl what she does here in Portland. She says that besides work she analyzes poeple's handwriting. Awesome I think. That's great. It's always nice to have a party trick especially one so 'tarot' as this. Do me! Do me! C'mon.... So she's dead on. Saying how fantastic and most likely biblical I am and the such. How ladies love me not just for my sightly Patrician chin but also because I have the wit of Wilde and the vision of Rimbaud. All true and I wish I'd had my billfold on me cause I would've tipped her graciously. Instead I said that I'd mention her and her talents in an internet blog. There you go! Carly the Calligraphy Clairvoyant. Beautiful.
My few whiskey gingers were wearing off and that irish car bomb had given my some wild gas. I excused myself from the huddle and let one rip on my way toward the basement where some easy jam band sounds were emanating excitedly like the soundtrack from a romantic comedy circa '92. I can dig this as background music but to stand there in the front of these kids like the rest of this crowd was doing and be like 'Alright guys! Man you guys are really dishing out the mellow! Yes!' turn to the next guy 'Hey man, are you checking these guys out? I don't think I've heard an 25 minute percussion act like that in years! And that repetitious guitar riff is like 2 bricks of gold just showed up on the floor of the efficiency apartment in my brain!' Well anyway. Like I said: background music. The ground that needed backing being across the room from the band and surrounded by people holding...Money! That's right! Cash in hand! Moving ever closer to...Wait for it...Moving through the crowd...A bar! There's a bar! There's a goddamned bar right here in this fucking basement! Alright! So these kids had a full set up; mixers and all; a keg dropped to the side. Two bucks a cup. Three for a cocktail. Amazing!
Like some sissy new jack I just walk on up and I'm like...Dude...Is that a bar? Is this some sort of speak easy? Everyone just stopped and looked at me like the allegorical bus I'd just gotten off of had a marquee that read #5-0 Express Ride to Coolsville/Jump Street Line. One tall guy with a Vodka Cranberry entrenched in his large mitt lowered his stare dead onto my eyes and said: 'I don't know what you're talking about, dude.' and after that everything seemed cool again. Sheesh. My mistake guys. Hey readers that know me...Do I look like the fuzz? You can tell me...I won't be offended. Thanks.
After a basketball shoot-off I sat down at the dwindling fire with the dwindling crowd and proceeded to invoke the solemn and noble art of mere conversation. You know what I mean: how many subjects can you talk about without actually saying anything solid, relevant, and in some cases even factual? It's an old aristocratic art guys. And it can breath life into even the lamest of parties even LAN parties can be decently fun for bystanders if you just jabber about nothing to one another.
At one point I looked to my right to see a pair of red velvet shoes slither up beside me followed by a plop of rear and then the face of a modern PYT fills my scope. This is Tori. I don't know her. She looks about 18 at most but claims to be 20...and a half by her own admission. She's laying it down hard. Which is nice. I think everybody deserves to have somebody just walk up and start flirting with them every once in a while. It's probably due to my goatee(which I just shaved today) but this sort of thing happens rarely. So even though I know that nothing's gonna go down with this chick I humor her and hone my skills. Cause hey. The game's an exponentially expanding sort of thing. Don't get rusty cause best bet you'll get dropped. Alright...so I'm mainly including this just so that I can ask a question and illustrate a point. To my homies...Does it ever feel to you like a girl just started hitting on you just to get you beat up? I mean I could feel it in my jaw like 5 hours of blow and no more schnapps. Then these two guys come and sit down and just fucking mad dog on yours truly here and I'm like what's up with those dudes and she's all oh...Those are just my bro's. Alright. Bro's. She says: Bro's! Not brothers...and especially not my older brothers....you see the one on the left with the crook eye? Hunh? The big one? Yeah, he's wanted for aggravated assault. Well, comrades, obviously I'm exagerating and for that matter nothing happened I just want you all to be careful cause remember good citizens....These ladies be schemin and you know! You know! I ain't never lyin. Gotta watch yo back son else getcha shit jacked. That is all. The party ended and so did my conciousness...once again left to roam around a strange part of SE the next morning. Just so you'll take note: I'll soon be doing some interviews once Picnic sets up on the new website...That's right kiddo's. Our very own website. That's that. Uptown! Fuhgedabahdeh. Nothin doin.