The white, creamy light of Jesus the Christ.

So yo! The first day of tour was a pretty unmitigated success, brah.

Wichita is always lovely to us, but this time was sweeter than even the gods could have known. It was an epic battle.

We drove like true doggs. There was stopping and eating at times. I read a book about a child molester. This book was called "The Bible." True to form, there was much singing along to Alanis, Dan getting far too stoned and trying to eat his own fist, and Bradley blinking and looking around.

We also got pulled over for the first time ever. It went down like this:

We was cruisin', reciting poetry to Dan, who was writing it down for posterity, when we saw the copper flash his lights. We pulled over, hid our massive stash of ganj n' ludes. When the cop came to the window, Jeremy started crying. (This is because he was once cornholed by a nightstick.) The cop was all, "Yo, your tags are expired." I was like, "We got a temp sticka, nigga," and he was like, "Aw, dang."

Anyway, we told the cop to chill, threw a handful of feces at him, and were on our way to the 'Chita only an hour and change late. We pulled up to see one million kids at the show. Each one of them bought a shirt, a hoodie, a record and a copy of Dan's solo album, called "Reflections on Gay: Dan Sings!" Seriously, a lot of kids, which is kind of refreshing after the last tour, where we played primarily for the girls from whom we'd borrowed money in the past.

We got the "Fuck Thunder" vinyl from Dustin, who is officially the sweetest bearded leprechaun we know, especially now that he's started drinking. Our van is a merch machine: Six different shirt designs, all four full-length formats, rekkids, stickers, Staind tribute band albums, etc. Rock.

We're now at Kody's. Rickyfitts left last night for tour, so we spent most of our time this morning stealing their stuff. I scored a pretty sweet melon spoon.

Tonight is the sweetness of Alton, where we've been promised barrels of yak.