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Editor Rebecca is on a plane as we speak — it’s the future! — to uncircumcised libtard fish valley San Francisco, and she wants your author, “Jim,” to remind you nearby bums to show up on time for tonight’s meetup. Show up where though? Whoa whoa, easy now, just cooool down. It’s Friday and the editor is away. What mischief shall we get ourselves into?… Let’s play like… all the Parental Advisory CDs we have… yeah. Here are England’s most controversial new hitmakers, the Rolling Stones, playing just outside the Bay Area at a “speedway” of some sort?This song is just crazy; right around the bridge there’s this guitar part where… someone gets stabbed and the Dreams of the ’60s die all at once. Mmm mmm mmm, Fridays.

Here’s the drinking meet-up spot, again:

The 540 Club, 540 Clement St., at Seventh Ave., San Francisco. We are told this is nowhere near BART, and that we do not “understand transportation.” To which we can only answer, “What part of ‘we are from Los Angeles’ do you not understand?” So, sorry, Yups and Yupettes!

Oh right, and it’s at 7 p.m. First unknown quantity of beers is on us!

Be sure to (1) Take really embarrassing photos of our drunk editor flopping around on the ground in a pool of her own vomit (2) Send those pictures to our advertisers! Wait a minute… only do one of those things, not sure which.

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