bvvvvvvv... bvvvvvvv...

"Hello?"
"Mr. Boomsma?"
[Yes.]
"This is Chicago..."

Shit. What a city. I've always liked C-U and I've never really felt a need to get out of here, but that might be because, until these past few weeks, I'd never really seen anything else. By this time next year, I want to own a dog. When I wake up, I want to walk across the street and take that dog to breakfast with me. Then, while I sit and do the crossword puzzle and watch the passing impregnable hipster girls, I want an attractive waitress to feed my dog cups of ice water. After breakfast, my surroundings will have put me in such a great mood that I will forget how dirty our beautiful Lake Michigan really is and walk barefoot over rocks, glass, and dead birds and fish for no other reason than to sit and make perverted sand figures at its side. I may be naive, but I think the real world is going to be great.

On Friday night, a good handful of us went to the home of bottle smacking and ball grabbing, The Gator. Erich attended and even played a few games of pool without killing anyone or going to the hospital. I probably don't have to tell you that Tommy hit on the bartender. She was a tough looking, but sexy, Czech woman. Upon learning of her nationality, Tommy said, "Well, czech me out!" (yif T) And when he went up to the bar to close his tab, he said, "Czech, please!" He's a fucking riot, that guy, and we're going to throw him the best goddam going away party ever, even if the LA crew doesn't come back. Here's a picture of Tommy and his Czech mate: