20 December, 2008
Oh dear God. WTF. Happened. Last Night.
Dad is running around in his underpants and he started a band.
Too hungover to string sentence together and clutch pen, will write tomoz.
But I have found myself in a really fucked up episode of Flight Of The Conchords. Or someone gave me acid. One of the two.
21 December, 2008
So. What happened was this. I end up drinking Malbec in the sun with the American, and when I get back to our place, Dad had started a band.
“Peas, I've started a band.”
'Wha?' I say in a vino tinto stupor.
“I'm playing the harmonica, Brad Pitt's [Colorado dude] playing the guitar and we're putting Binks on the bongos.”
“Say...where is Binks?”
The last I remember is him saying to someone the next day, “I woke up in my underpants, had no keys, no mp3 player and no ticket out of here. No seriously, I lost ticket.”
So as part of his loser's complex he decided to make his bush hat a money making machine, as well as his harmonica.
Got a live gig at a bar downtown, (as in, they nabbed an already set-up open stage), roped in a few innocent men and they played live music for everyone last night.
Including a rowdy bunch of Argentines who knew no better.
We were all hopelessly drunk.