Dispatch from Miami: Still Alive. But Barely.

It's 3 p.m., and I'm just now making the transition from drunk to hung over. Kind of like yesterday. No chance of me writing a real post, as I barely have the motor skills to type.

It's raining here in Miami, which is proof that (a) God likes me this this shade of pale, and (b) He likes seeing Sarah Spain wet. But then, who doesn't? (I guess I should mention that I met her Saturday night, briefly. She is attractive and nice. Her friends: also attractive and nice. She was also hammered, though possibly less hammered than I. Her medical student date whom she chose over me was with her, and he seemed a little too handsy with her, if you ask me. And he was all, "I'm NOT a child molester!" and I was like, "Sure buddy." More on this later. I have like 8 posts of material from this weekend.)

ANYWAY, I'll say this: Bears are the new Steelers. With my steely, precise mind of science, I've calculated that a full 90% of NFL fans here for the game are Bears fans. Which is just one more reason to root for the Colts -- I want to see an entire city of crushed souls.

Oh, and here's a picture from the Penthouse party.


Those referee chicks were annoying. They kept blowing their whistles, and I was like, "You've really gotta stop doing that." Then they blew their whistles some more.

NOTE: This post also published on With Leather.