Beans. Spilled.

Well, I'm probably breaking some secret oath, but I'm not the best guy with a secret and a bottle of Bombaby Sapphire (Robotnik, you'll be happy to know I just drank it neat, no ice, no tonic. Few people know that gin has such a wonderful taste unless it's taken straight).

I know this is supposed to be a storyblog, so I'll stay true to the format.

Once upon a time, one of the funniest writers out there happened upon my site and left a funny comment. And 6 months later she asked, 'Do you want to come to Chicago and hang out?'

Well, it's the golden rule of fundraising. All you have to do is ask. I immediately said, 'Sure, why not?'

So on September 23rd, just for the hell of it, I'm flying to Chicago to drink tequila with two awesome young ladies. It will be the first annual (yes, I know there's no such thing as a 'first annual') Windy City Tequila Blogrise. I will come prepared with inebriated wit and intoxicated slo-bido. There will be plenty of 'I love yous' and 'No, I love YOUs' to go around.

And best of all, my wife, Miss Chocula herself, will be escorting me to Chicago.

(Her cousin lives there)

I have to admit that at each of the last 4 jobs I've held, none of my co-workers actually believed that a woman would marry me. They all said things like, 'You?' and, 'No, seriously, YOU?'.

But it's true. I was able to convince a woman to marry me. True, I had to find a creature of the night halfway around the impoverished fourth world, but still, technically, a WOMAN did take my hand. In marriage.

And there will be witnesses. September 23. Chicago. Just for the hell of it.

Back to the Bombaby. Thank God it's Friday.

(editor's note, it's Monday)