Cheese weasels and the death of print.

We are like totally home. I celebrated this fact by having sex thirty times. My partner is so sore! Mmm.

Our last few shows were fun. The FSU House was chock-sorta-full of dudes and babies who'd rather throw mattresses at each other than listen to music, but that's how they roll. We sold some stuff, made a bit o' money and drove on home.

The deal with night drives are this: I am almost always like, "Hey, dudes. Let's just stay the night," to which they respond, "No, let's drive." This means that I drive for sixty thousand hours while they sleep. "Bitch, wake up," I say. "I just drove for four hundred miles. "Mmmppphhh. Sleeping." "I'm serious, whore," I say. "Mprrhh. Sleeping." So I continue driving so they can get home. They are true bichos, if you speak Portuguese, and total putos if you don't.

I sort of miss the Post Office Gals guys and/or girls. We're playing with them again in March, but that's kinda far and also away. I hope we'll get to fuck then, even if they won't let me pee in their asses, the Jersey prudes that they are.

TTYL, sluts. News to come.

OH! OH!

Jared Grabb is a true mid-American hero. He made us a hearty a nutritious breakfast and now we're going to go out, chop wood and milk the sheepdogs. This is how we'll become the salt of the earth.

Last night's show was wickedly wicked. First off, we got to see many old homies and bro-mies and sweetnesses. Mel got drunk and fellated an orange. We rocked the eff out and revolutionized hardcore music forever. Our breakdowns sounded like earthquakes and our doodling like birdsong. We punched each other in the face and threw our heads back in triumphant laughter. We were as gods.

I forgot to mention that Dan was adopted by a Pound Puppy in Boston. Ask him about this.

After the show, we went to a bar and met the Hottest Girl in the World. As I'd had a bit to drink, I told her this: "I just wanted you to know that you are the hottest girl in the world." She looked as me very calmly and said "thank you," like I'd just wished her a happy New Year or given her a coupon for Snackwells. Fuck that.

Today is the last day of tour, which should be fun since our dealer plates disappeared from the van and we get pulled over every fifteen minutes. "Dan! Hide the weed!" we shout.

We're playing the FSU garage tonight, which has proven to be a blast in the past. Fun times. Good babies.

Whatever! Didn't make it!

So, hello.

We are once again in Indianapolis, and Brad is making fun of me for being an atheist. When will my persecution stop?

New England. There were shows. New Hampshire was fun. Pennsylvania-slash-New York was a big fest of people who'd rather spin-kick than listen to music, especially when said music comes thirty-seven hours after the beginning of the show. Rural Ohio was full of deceit and pot laced with wizards. Man!

Last night's show was aiight. We got some see some old friends and make some new ones and get jumped on by Chihuahuas. Free beer plus us equals total destruction of your mind.

We are now en route to paying Bradley's father back. I wonder if I could knock him out with a blackjack and make off with the loot. "Ha-ha!" I'd say. "You'll never catch me!"

Hmmm. Time to shower.

Really? Only seventy-five bucks?

We're at Daniel's very empty house right now, showering up and getting ready to head back up to New England for our New Hampshire show. Being unsupervised at this house is proving a bit tempting, since his mom looks and sounds like a post-fourth season Carmela Soprano, only hotter and younger.

When we were getting out of the van last night, Daniel's mom was like, "Were you boys smoking weed out there?" and we were all, "No, we don't have any." She then disappeared for a minute and brought us a Ziploc bag full of kind bud. We totally smoked it and started a band called the Melvins.

Both the Jersey and the Taunton shows were fun, if by "fun" I mean "totally sweet." Okay attendance but not so much merch purchase, which, when combined with a Skittle and a smile, will get us approximately nuffink.

On the way to Taunton, I discovered that Dan would let me do a slew of humiliating sexual things to him for bargain basement prices. Doing pushups while I jerk off and comment on how ripped he is? Thirty bucks.

Last night's show was drunk and debaucherous, which is the way we like it. We parked the van illegally so bandmates could visit the fabled Grease Trucks of New Brunswick, and while they were parked with me sitting inside and smoking, a drunk girl crawled into the van to use my lighter and ended up crying, telling me that her brother was going to Iraq. "I'm sorry," I said. "Take off your shirt."

Dan playing drunk is like giving meth to a kodiak.

It was lovely to have seen our TPOG pals again and even lovelier to make out with their girlfriends while they were loading. Jay kay.

I ate a muffin this morning. My stomach didn't recognize it since it wasn't Burger King.

Another house show tonight, which should be fun. The N.H. kids promised us a dance party a year and a half ago and didn't deliver, so there better be some sweet jams and brew and suds and stuff a-waitin' for us.

Will you still love me if I wet the bed?

The above is the title of Liz's book, which is funny and touching and adorable. How adorable are Kevin and Liz, you ask? Well, when he showed up to the show last night, Kevin said his tummy hurt because he'd eaten too many animal crackers during the drive from Boston. See?

We are still in Easthampton and it's raining like a mutha. Dan just fell down the stairs. I heard a ton of crashing and looked at Jeremy, then went to go check on him. "Dan, you okay?" I said. Dan said, "I just fell down the fucking stairs."

"I know," I said.

Yesterday was a day chock-full of wandering around Northampton, looking at impressionable young Smith dykes-for-a-day and wandering from organic eatery to Wicca Warehouse and so on. We then went to see "Hostel," which sparked me asking my bandmates if they'd let me mutilate them for 50 grand. They are tiny manginas and declined.

The show was okay. Not a lot of dancing, since my feet were frozen into my Manolo Blahniks, but we played aiight and got to see Animal Hospital. Kevin's new stuff rules the school.

Oh, great. Brad just walked in. No more fun, anybody.

We're going to hang out in Boston today before the show and eat beans until we explode.

Epic battle to the vending machines!

So I now know the following:

1) Delaware is every bit as boring as you'd think it would be. Even the college sluts are dreary. You're like, "Hey girl, what your major?" and she's like, "Horticulture with a minor in constitutional theory," and you're like, "Okay. Tee tee why ell." The upside to Delaware is that people get insanely drunk and destroy Mac monitors with spiked bats. Downsides are numerous and include sleeping in the broken glass from said monitor destruction, plus having to be in Delaware.

2) New York is fucking fun, especially when you're me and get to eat good food and stay in some luxury-ass digs while your bandmates are swillin' Bud and sleeping on someone's floor. Ha-ha! We did the touristy thing and drove around agape until all of my band exacted revenge by falling asleep, forcing me to have conversations with myself.

3) Connecticut is a state so wee and adorable that "tear this place apart" is their state motto. Yousums a good state, Connecticut, arents you? Yes you is!

4) I am somehow getting wireless right now.

5) Once upon a time, we were in a van, musing about how Maryland is weird. "Everything just seems slightly off," we said. Just then a truck pulled up, driven by a midget who was delivering something to another midget who may or may not have tipped midget number one accordingly. We then got the hell out of Maryland before it forced us to don polka dots and speak in tongues.

We're now in Massachusetts. We play very close by tomorrow. I plan on sleeping for a hundred and thirty-nine hours. TTYL!

Fucking Diggeridooerey! Goddamn!

So we're somewhere right now. Honestly, I could not tell you where since I've had anywhere between two and seven thousand drinks. I also did some sweet heroin, smoked a bushel of crack and probably fellated a lemon tree. Damn.

Daniel TPOG and I are making a smooth jazz band that primarily covers Skynyrd. I am making this effort to reconcile with him since I accidentally impregnated his girlfriend. "Fill me up!" she said. "Fertilize me!" she said. Man. Man, oh, man did I shit the bed.

Anyway, the D.C. show was alright. Pretty much everyone in Fugazi was there, since we were playing an old folks' home for the humorless. Also, Faraquet showed up and said that we're much better musicians than them and a lot heavier. (They're secretly into chug.) Also, Q and Not U came and we beat them up, just on principle. You would've done the same.

We might not survive the night, just so you know. If we show up in the form of fat peoples' coats with bad tribal tattoos, don't be surprised.

Texting is fun if you're fifteen and don't really know how to spell to begin with. If you happen to be familiar with the proper use of the semicolon and you know how to spell "indefatigable," it's prolly not for you. But, given the opportunity, textalicious chicks can and will talk about your ejaculate, their face, et cetera, if you give them your number. Be aware.

The District sleeps alone tonight. I need to be punched to death for saying that. Or just surreptitiously be jerked off in the bathroom. Ooh. Be right back.