This house is pretty old, and houses that are pretty old usually have some odd tidbits about them here and there. The stairway that goes upstairs to Walter, Alice, and my rooms is sort of narrow and creaky and has some nails poking out of the steps in places. They don’t stick out very far, just a bit. I took a hammer to them once and pounded them back in, but they just worked themselves out again.Anyway, yesterday I tripped on the way up the stairs and put my hand down on one of them. It gouged me pretty good, and I started to bleed. Well, super. Now, normally I don’t much worry about cuts and scrapes, but considering I was cut with a stairway, and stairways get walked on by nasty shoes and feet a good bit, I elected to look for some peroxide. Instead I found a Frog and a Becky. I held my cut up to Becky. She leaned backward away from it. “I need some peroxide.”She went to look in all the places I had just looked for some peroxide, but came up empty. “Now, how is it that a clumsy bunch of motherfuckers in this house can go without a bottle of peroxide around?” I asked. “We are living on the edge, apparently.” Beck confirmed. “I could pour some tequila on it,” I suggested. “We have gin”Beck and I went into the kitchen and she got a bottle of Bombay Sapphire and handed it to me. I peeled the hanging skin off my hand to expose the cut. I uinscrewed the cap and poured the gin in. Boy, that fucking hurt.

THanks to all of you who have wished me a good birthday. I really do appreciate it. I drank myself into a babbling stupor last night, as you might expect.

I am having an excellent brithday, you’ll be glad to know, although sadly have yet to see any birthday boobies.

The day isn’t over just yet though.

I like websites that let you change the name they call you when you log in.

Have you ever noticed that you don’t fart nearly as much when you’re by yourself as when you have a girl over?Recently a young lady protested my farting. “What are you going to do about it?” I asked her. “Smell it, I guess.” she said. In the immortal words of Zachary Taylor, a great American, “Fuck yeah.”

Now, from time to time a friend of Becky’s comes to stay with us. She and Becky have a couple of projects they work on together, like DVD’s and so forth. They recently filmed one for a pretty big artist, so they’ve been getting together to work on it at our house. When she’s here she sleeps in Becky’s bed and Becky grabs a couch or an empty bed if there is one.

Now, around here most of the shenanigans happen late at night. Nobody really goes to sleep before 5 or 6 AM here, which is something that company usually has trouble with.

Lately we’ve been having a small rat problem as well. The last rat that got caught here fell victim to the old cheese in a trap ploy. He wasn’t killed by the trap, though, and he was making a bit too much noise for Frog’s taste, so our trusty amphibian hero got calmly out of his bed, walked down the hall, and shot the rat dead form the hallway with his .40 Glock.

Apparently this weekend Becky’s friend was sleeping soundly in Becky’s room, when she was awakened by some commotion in the hall. She heard Madison shout, “Frog! Rat in the hallway! Rat in the hallway!”.

All manner of hell broke loose at this point. She said she heard people shouting and running around, and all manner of clanking and banging and clonking. Then she heard “I think it went in Becky’s room!”

She jumped out of bed and opened the door to find Frog with a shotgun, one of our other roommats Starboy with a .357 revolver, and Madison with a sawed off shotgun and a pair of protective goggles, should the rat go for his eyes.