I discovered the magic instant coma inducing formula last night. Two parts gumbo, two parts dark beer. Aaron and Ayemie were unconscious in olympic record setting time. Well. It was that or the eating and drinking at 1 in the morning. But, my vote's on the gumbo and malted adult beverage.

Anyhow.. we've got a metric ton of left-overs so you're in luck. Heh. Aaron's going to the store for some Bisquick as we speak. Er. As I type. ... because he's a lying sack of shit and said we had some last night. What an asshole! So, if you're in for some gumbo crepes, you're so in for a treat. And by treat, I mean nausea.

Eh.. so.. yeah. We're going to probably make our way down to the downy down town and pick up some shorts or pants or other crotch covering garment for me, as my wife packed my travel bag to-the-fucking-brim full with pajamas but somehow I didn't get packed any socks or shoes or power cord for my shaver or shorts or ass lube. Not that I was expecting to have ass lube packed, but when you're staying at Aaron's place, you never know.

Where was I. Dunno. I'm in a post-beer-gumbo haze this morning. But, seriously. I picked up a bunch of goodies for crepes last night at Trader Jose's and I'm going to get a-cookin' here shortly as soon as the DEEF mute shows up with the aforementionedly (new word!) promised Bisquick. If you're in, dial 867-5309 for a good time. Or, come over.