I close my eyesOnly for a momentThen the moment's gone

So, I am going to UJ's wedding this Saturady.

He's askin' me to stand up.



Stand up and read somethin'.

Somethin'

Somethin' I'm supposed to have already written.



But yet,

incredibly,

It's something that I haven't started.



¿Did I just blow your mind?



How you like the Duder now?

Shit's big pimpin, yo.



^^That right there is what I'm talkin about.

That shit went down on the mean streetz of the BDC.

Ferreal.

Slangin 'n' bangin.



But you knew pimpin' wuz where my heart was at.

Break down, go ahead, give it to me

As we head into July, we sit, we think, and we wonder why?

Why?


Why, indeed.

Good question.


(That's what we like to call, "Big Sky.")

Well, quite frankly, I'm not entirely, completely,

(youcompleteme)

sure

Why,

but...

Um.

I dunno.

But I have an idea.


(Is Wayne Brady gonna have to choke a bitch?)

By the way, about a year ago today, I had a pretty entertaining experience.

I learned what is was to,

¿Como se dice?,

"Keep it Real?"

In Bozeman, Montana.

First thing you need to know, is that I grew up in the streetz.

The mean streetz of Beaver Dam, Wisconsin.

That's right, bitch, the BDC.

Shit's furreal, mang.

Check it.

Slip kid, slip kid, second generation...

This is a headline that was on "My Yahoo."

Gays From France's Tough Suburbs Unable To Celebrate

I didn't click it and read the article because I am having too much fun simply thinking about the headline.

OK- we have France; we have Gays from France; those Gays live in France's Suburbs; these Suburbs are Tough; so Tough, in fact, that the Gays are Unable to Celebrate there.

My head is spinning with possibilities.

But I cannot get past the thought of Tough French Suburbs.

What happens there?

I am picturing a gang of sooty ragamuffins wielding baguettes administering a beatdown on a manicured lawn, right near the basketball hoop.

Anyway...

Friday night I went running and then I went fishing. The fishing is getting good here. The rivers are mellowing out some, and clearing up.

Yesterday, I went over to Bell's house.

We decided to go float a different section of the Gallatin.

Actually, the last section of the Gallatin, where it runs into the Missouri.

It was fantastic.

Like an asshat, I forgot my camera.

We saw a beaver.

Of course, I commented, "Nice beaver!"

We also saw a big red-tailed hawk, which circled above us and delivered a couple of its patented spaghetti western screams. (You know the high pitched scream; you've heard it hundreds of times in movies and tv shows. That, my friends, is the scream of a red-tailed hawk.)

Later, we saw an osprey. Those birds are badass. They are nearly as big as eagles, with eye-widening wingspans. They only eat fish. They have a white head and tehir bodies and wings are white and black.

(I can't really describe how beautiful this state is... I have spent the last year actively exploring within an hour or two from my house. I have done something new just about every week, and it continues to rock my socks off, Tenacious D style. Seriously, if you are reading this website from somewhere else in the country, or Canada, or the world, you need to plan a trip to Montana sometime. You will not regret it. Speaking of that... somebody spent an hour or so reading this website from the McMurdo base on Antarctica. I guess it is winter down there and there isn't much to do.)

Then Bells grilled some burgers and played some music.

I went home, talked to Blain and watched some Deadwood.

I love that show.

The one negative is that I already have a foul mouth, and when I watch a lot of Deadwood, it gets fouler. And I just watched the entire second season on DVD this week.

Fuckin' cocksuckers.