Blame it on Dio
This morning, we woke up to discover that at some point during the night, someone had taken a moment to scrawl a grotesquely huge penis in the snow on the hood of our landlord's car. Agitated and spurty, the penis was captioned: "I killed Chandra Levy." While no one can be entirely sure who was responsible for the rendering, everyone on the block believes the culprit to absolutely have been us, without a doubt. Could do without the shitty looks from the landlady, however. It's not even her car.
Oh, and about the title: We actually managed to talk our way into the pantaloons of our friend EF Slutton by bragging that we are second cousins with Ronnie James Dio. This was a long time ago, and it's never worked on another woman, but leave us with our memories, for Christ's sake. But the real reason we bring up Ron Jim Dio is that we meant to plug ex-Unband bassist Mike Ruffino's Gentlemänly Repöse, which is the Funniest Book of All Time. Ruffino toured with The Man on the Silver Mountain back in the late ‘90s, and his reconstruction of the events––we use "reconstruction" because Ruffino giddily volunteers that much of his time on the road was spent ingesting all sorts of fun chemicals and "hunkering down inside the cockpit of the most powerful drinking machine in the entire world"––is pretty much like what Hunter S. Thompson might have sounded like if he had been a Masshole metalhead who wrote songs called "(Sure Do Feel Like A) Piece of Shit" and "Retarder."
Here's a paragraph from the book. If upon reading it you do not immediately click on that link and buy the goddamned thing, you are a sorry little specimen indeed. OK: "Let me say about how we urinate. We go and buy two gallons of water at a place that has a bathroom. We use that bathroom as much as we need/can after we have drunk as much of one of the gallons of water as possible. We put whatever is left into smaller containers, which we put somewhere in the van to get nice and hot for those desert drives, leaving half an inch of water in the gallon jug. Now this is a toilet, or more specifically, a urinal. The jug we have now has a sticker on it reading, Indian Rock Spring Water. I used to sneak around when it was my turn to dump it. Now I just pour it out wherever I feel like and say what the fuck are you looking at. The other gallon jug we dump out and fill with prostitutes."