I tell you for a long time I didn't think that architects really knew anything. But call me and we can go to Dalmer's and have a bite to eat. Viking Style. Stay tuned and I'll tell y'all about what that fucker Panacci missed on Saturday.
In the news this week. Dirty mexican flu. Pirate sentenced. Sam Morse's Birthday. btmt deejays. That's right. We have finally decided to push the band in the right direction. Sorry for all those that we forgot to inform prior to the party. Lets just say it was a pandemic of awesome. Everyone was infected and some of us got sick. Vomitting sick. As if we were in a sea of legend and motion sickness suddenly initiated some magical pirate morse code of vomit--vomit--stop--vomit. We sailed the high seas atop a crowd of onlookers who waited for awesome to come on as we started our set around four thirty. Alas, our powers of awesome were too great and the stereo could not handle the amazing music we were about to dole on to our unsuspecting audience, as the crunch of the transformer was felt, so too was our pride, and we walked away, solemnly wishing for our ethereal existence to vanish amidst a group of our peers. But we are not ghosts. Because they cannot play music or sing. And we can.
For those of you who would like a condensed version. Speakers blew. People threw up. Great party. btmt is not a ghost band.
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