The wrlod is all meixd up.  Wnietr was lkie srpnigtmie, tehn sirnpg bcemae clod.  Btoiehcnoogly was a piravte scoetr idnsutry, and now it is petnat inleiglibe.  Hpitsers hvae docisvered my foravite “oscubre” ratesuanrt and foclekd to it, dotserying its ocsubrity. Gdooamn wno’t be at peokr baeucse he has woemn fwnanig oevr him all weke.  Ntohnig meaks snsee aynmroe.

But pkeor geos on if trhee is ietnerst.  Satrt tmie 7:30ihs.  Smae huose, birng bzooe.

Paelse palese RVSP!


Pajama Party Poker

By special request of Sarah, this week’s poker is Pajama Night!  Come wearing pajamas or bring some to change into.  Sarah will don her “sheepies” and I will have my candy-cane-on-acid costume.  So you are guaranteed not to be the silliest looking one in the room, no matter what pajamas you wear.

Now I understand that not all of you wear pajamas in real life.  That’s not the point.  The point is to wear pajamas for poker.  The theme is NOT wear-what-you-usually-sleep-in.  Goodman allegedly sleeps naked every night, and I’m pretty sure Dolin doesn’t wear pants at home, period.  So you see where this is going…

Fortunately, Goodman can’t make poker tonight because his mommy and daddy are in town,* and Dolin is not invited.  Chances are therefore good that everyone in attendance will be decently clothed (hopefully in cutie pajamas).

Little did Sarah know, but suggesting a theme for poker is a privilege specially reserved for the host of poker.  They live at [——–].  There should be an unpleasant doorperson at the front desk to let you in.  DON’T show up at the Goodman house, as poker will NOT be there.  It will just be Goodman in his “pajamas.”  Remember, if he asks you to “moot” him, say NO and go find an adult you trust.

So be at 1210 Mass Ave at 8pm tonight in your finest sleepwear.  Bring whatever you used to eat/drink at the pajama parties of your younger days.  For me, it was peach schnapps, Zima, and skittles.  Be sure to RSVP , so she knows how many Ellio’s frozen pizzas to put in the toaster oven.

*Putting to rest the myth that Goodman actually hatched in the Bottom Line basement out of a puddle of stale Miller Lite and shame.  He was in fact born of two lovely parents who flew all the way from Oklahoma to watch him get his ass handed to him by a panel of federal judges.