"I'm Back on the Track and I'm Beatin' the Flack"

Well, my friends, after two weeks in limbo, Hair Band Friday is back. New location. Same party-till-we-die-of-inhalation-of-vomit-due-to-extreme-intoxication attitude. Now that I'm in the new digs, it's kind of weird. But if the first HBF is any indication of how things are going to be, then it looks like it's going to be totally righteous. Some of the ladies don't know what to think of me, since they're used to the other guys in the office. I've overheard some of them talking about me: "Have you seen the new guy?", "I wonder what the new guy is like.", "What's the new guy's deal?", and "I heard the new guy is like 12 inches. In diameter." I haven't installed the stripper poles just yet, and my supply of "goodies" isn't yet where it needs to be. My solution for loin electrocution, you ask? Quite simple. Any lady who takes off her top gets to sample my world-famous Jactosy punch (made of Jack, Ecto Cooler, and only the finest X), along with a free shot of China white and a free ride on the HBF train. Plus, I'm blasting three solid albums: AC/DC's masterpiece, "Back in Black," Def Leppard's hella-mega-colossal epic, "Hysteria," and Warrant's debut, "Dirty Rotten Filthy Stinking Rich." Most of the ladies loosened up after downing some Jactosy and watching me write the shit out of a complaint. Those contract-breaching SOBs aren't even gonna know what hit 'em. This chick named Trudi is passed out naked on top of some bankers' boxes full of documents. Don't worry, though, I snorted a couple lines off of her motionless yet perky ass. Meanwhile some tricks named Tanya and Tawnee are fighting over who "gets first blow on the new guy." I think I'm going to like it here.

Well, it's a real piece of shite day here in Chicago: upper 40s, rain, wind. It feels a bit like London, but with better teeth, shittier beer, a less sophisticated sense of humor, and a noticeable lack of pensioners complaining about how the younger generation doesn't speak the Queen's English. Tally ho!