The Candelabras are Screaming, from Tales of the Yellow Stuff

After watching both The Fellowship of the Ring and The Two Towers yesterday, in a marathon of elfin magic, Dungeons and Dragons patheticness, and a sweatpant induced slothness I was overcome by my inability to do much of anything while in my current state. Fortunately a Mr. Tony Fraccerro and his hot exotica minx of a Brazilian Babe came by to say hello. This was rather startling and somewhat unexpected as I had just gone under from the yellow stuff. I was hearing these voices around me as if they were far off and distant, like when you awaken from a dream where you and Jenna Jameson are prancing through a field alone, picking daisies, pausing only to smell the sweet air and maul her from behind like a viking ram oblitterating a castles gate- only to realize the vikings gate is closed and you have severe morning wood. Try as you might to fall back to sleep to that lovely dream world , you can't..... it's gone now, and so is Jenna in all her buxom glory. But I digress, you know what I mean, that lovely dreamy state of half asleep, half awake. Where those voices are not far, but near and at your side. I was there yesterday, and so was Tony. His voice somewhat muffled by the swirling drugs and leftover blood lodged in my nasal cavities, but a voice none the less. Though I wanted to speak yesterday, and laugh and tell Tony to try the yellow stuff before he left, I could not. It was not to be allowed as my jaw is banded tighter than a Goldbergs wallet, and is so puffed out that I have a certain resemblence to the laughable, portly lad Fat Bastard. So after a couple of minutes of staring, a few pictures and some drooling, tony left me to my own.
That was the highlight of the day, other than my monster geek movie session and the realization/reccomendation (from a former nurse) that I try to add a little alcohol with my shakes to offset the pain. What a joy, yellow stuff and alcohol mixed together!!! While I am writing this I am waiting for the effects to kick in, hopefully hog-tying me to some delapitated state where the books on the shelves will start dancing to a samba rhythm only I can hear. Or at least it will knock me out until tommorrow, when the jaw will be smaller, the potions less in abundance and my sanity close to being at hand. Until then I sit back, enjoy the velvety vail and await the mercy of your e-mails. May the days be kind and the nights sweet and warm.......
TK