No Hair Band Friday Today

My firm is moving offices today (which is a fucking blast to deal with while trying to write a mediation brief, by the way), so the stripper poles, cases of Jack and Dom, kilos of narcotics, bent spoons, leather straps, bongs, coke mirrors and straws, ceiling mirrors, leather chaps, spurs, industrial-sized tubs (not tubes, tubs) of Astroglide, wall tapestries featuring pentagrams and naked chicks (or both), latex body suits, silk sheets, cock rings (not that I need them), and vats of goats' blood are all packed up in various storage crates and containers. Granted, I'm still blaring hair band music (last three songs: "Too Young To Fall In Love" by the fucking Crue, "Women" by Def Leppard, and "Big City Nights" by The Scorpions) and banging random chicks that walk by, but I have to wear rubbers because the bowl of RU-486 -- the Freedom Bowl, as we call it -- is packed up, so it's not really a full-fledged Hair Band Friday. Next week, though, will be a christening. Well, that's all for now because the bastards are coming soon to move my computer. It should be really interesting to see how I get this mediation brief done, given to the partner, edited, and out to the client by the end of the day. I love my job.