And lo, I find myself at a BBQ.

And there are three plates of veritable mountains of sausages to be cooked.  And it’s raining outside.  And let us not forget – the apartment is painted various shades of bright orange.

Welcome to the moving-out BBQ bonanza celebration my good friend Jon decided to thrust upon us last Friday.  A fine night, indeed!  …If you count eating big fat sausages in delicious French bread with sauerkraut, free availability of tam-tams, a truly retro music playlist (long live high school) and spontaneous dance-out sessions fun, that is.  Oh wait – I kinda do!  Well then hell – I may as well tell you about it!

Dave was present at the party, and seeing how he never updates his blog, I’ll show you myself what a sporting guy he can be.  In my latest experiment on this human guinea pig my friend, I decided to see the effect of a party had on his demeanor.  This was a double-blind test (or some crap like that), since I didn’t know whether the party was going to be any good or not and Dave (as usual), had no idea what the hell was going on.  You can see here by his dim expression that he thinks my experiment is a fantastic idea.


Don’t worry, we’ll get back to him later.

You know as well as I do that you always find at least someone at a party who knows at least a little something about the dark art of sensual massages, which I believe is a branching off of the ancient ninja skill of calming your opponent to death using various pressure-point techniques.  If you don’t usually see this, then you’ve really been going to the wrong parties.  Come on – get your damn life together already.  Anyways, guys tend to actually make an effort (yeah, who knew?) to learn this stuff because they know that it’s a free ticket to getting girls to expose their backs, and they figure that by that point they’re already halfway there.  Regardless, this guy actually seemed to know more than the usual mail-away graduate of the School of Back Bliss, since he claimed he was apparently studying this stuff at an actual "university".  Since he already seemed to have a girlfriend, I wondered aloud what possible use he had for continuing his education, since his scheme had obviously already worked.

I can tell you right now that I didn’t receive any satisfactory response to my inquiry.

So, back to the party then.  Despite the rain, the BBQ heats up nice and glowy in the back-alley-like "yard"/"pit" Jon has attached to his room.  Handy, that, for voyeurism into the other apartments – especially into those that didn’t bother to buy any blinds, I’m quite heartily assured.  While the sausages do their thing on the grill, the guests obviously need some sort of distraction – and Mr. Massage (legal name – I have his card) stepped up to the challenge.  Through his powers of the Force (albeit the stress-related variety), he sensed that one of my friends was way too tense, and needed immediate back re-tooling.  My friend, a little hesitant to have his back rubbed publicly by another member of his sex by his expression, reluctantly agreed.  My friend’s girlfriend repositioned herself to learn, and I, as a guy seeking to have girls take their shirts half-off, did the same.  But, before we even knew it, a back-massage train had broken out!  Hot Damn!


You can see by my expression what a keen student I am.  My friend (second in line), being massu-saged by Mr. Massage (third, receiving some TLC from yours truly), still retains his own classic slightly-puzzled expression.

But that’s not all!  Did I forget the tam-tams?! Did I ever tell you how much I enjoy banging on things that make loud noises?  Did I know how horrible and scary I look when I really get into things?  (Warning: horrible and scary photo approaching)
[Update]: I’ve been told that since I’m putting such a ghastly picture up, may as well put it up in all its glory.  You’ll find the original demon-eyed photo on the right

132-IMG_0024mod.jpg 132-IMG_0024.jpg

Well, now I do.  *shudder*.  I’m sorry about that.  Don’t go back and click it again – it’ll only reinforce the nightmares.  What I do have for you, though, is something that’ll ease your pain…

WHEREBY Danny hasn’t gone dancing in quite a while…
WHEREBY Danny has long since lost his sense of inhibition about his unique style of groove…
WHEREBY when Danny hears a song with a wicked beat, it’s all he can do not to start bobbing his head…
WHEREBY the rest of Danny’s body, attached to AFORMENTIONED head,  invariably follows…

You get this. (7 MB)


But wait!  We still have an experiment running!

You’ll remember, dear unbiased scientific observer, that the initial state of our test subject was as follows:


Not too impressive.  Certainly not worthy of submission to Nature, for example.  But wait!  Shortly after an injection of "Fun" factor version 11 mark 2…


SUCCESS!  Notoriety, Fame, Corruption, and eventually Alcoholism, here we come!