Going to see Santana and Steve Winwood tomorrow night. Sunday I'll probably just lay around throwing fire crackers at the little kids across the street. There's a mentally-damaged guy who lives down the block, too, and he'd probably be fun to fire some pop-bottle rockets at. I call him The Mentalist. That's my weekend in a nutshell: at some point I'll make love with my gorgeous wife, I'll rock out to Sanatana, whip Black Cats at Mexican kids and torment a defective. I cut the lawn yesterday so I won't have to do that, at least.
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