Dive! Dive! Dive, I say!

Saturday
January 21, 2006
6th Street Grill
Ft. Worth, Texas

We arrived to find out that we had no doorman and we were supposed to provide our own.

I think that the nice lady O'Neal is talking to actually ended up working the door for us. As you can see, we really needed someone fast and in a bad way!

Eric and I had to school everyone on the table before they would let us play...

Some of the "tips" I used to get written on napkins and dropped in the jar when I tended bar:
1. Don't eat yellow snow, bitch.
2. Don't stare at the sun.
3. Look both ways before crossing the street.
4. Money's tight, times are hard, so here's your fucking tip, retard.

I've heard all that shit.
I guess that's why after doing it for eight years it was time for a change.

Maybe if I sagged my pants, wore my hat sideways, had three different “baby mommas”, and butchered the English language by flowing some mad rhymes and dropping some phat beats, then I could actually pack the jizzoint out.

Fo’ shizzle…

Being involved in music, it often becomes a harsh reality, extremely disheartening, and sad to realize that if I were some wigger like “K-Fed” that I would be spending more money in a month than I will make in a lifetime doing what I do now; and oh yea, on top of that, I’d be boning Britney Spears too.

Sad indeed.

I like to call this picture, "Fuster Cluck."

...and this one, "Tuner."

Suddenly I feel a strong urge to go order a Coors Original.