Important Announcement!

Guess what, the internet? Today is a very special day for Taytyme.

He has just posted entry #69.

To celebrate, here's a photo of some rockers in love.




(I found it that time when I googled "toot-toot.")

Just in Tyme for This Weekend, Here's Last Weekend

So last weekend I peed with this guy at the Glossary bandiversary. Well, more like he peed with me. The bathroom was empty when I scoped it out, but I guess the dude saw me disappear around the corner and figured he’d cash in on that shit too. Ladies, allow me to describe the Boro’s men’s room for those of you who haven’t been bent over in it yet. There is a urinal, and there is a sit-down style toilet, and there is a sink. There are no stalls, duh, and there is no lock on the door. The stand-up and sit-down pots are on opposite walls, so at least you have your back to your bathroom bud while you go. Or at least you do until he seizes the opportunity to rap with you after zipping up, which is just what Quick-pee McGee had planned to do with me. He told me that he loves the two things I do that he knows about and said he’d like to get my styles on some stuff he’s doing over at Somebody’s place. It was great news, but he told it all while standing next to me as I peed!

During the whole ordeal I was thinking, “Thanks, thanks…so right now I’m holding my dick, and you are looking at me. You’ve actually taken steps closer to me as you’ve been talking. Now you’re close enough to hold my dick for me. How’s your aim, man? Would you like to take a shot at this?” As usual, I made it through by focusing my energy on thinking up an Injun name for him: Inappropriate Time For Compliments.

In retrospect, I probably could have worked the situation so that it ended with me getting my Doug on. Bummer, I guess. I could have become the oldest person to ever lay claim to such a feat at the Boro. But in retro-retrospect, the guy didn’t wash his hands after he shook off, and that’s a deal breaker for me. (I would not get booty from myself, as I also regularly violate the “golden rule”). I did wash my hands this time, because he was still talking when I finally finished and I thought that watching me do it might make him feel low-class.

Where’ve I been and what’ve I been up to? What the hell time is it, question-thirty? All you need to know is that I’m back in action, I smell like beer, lady parts, and a couple pairs of feet, and that I finally scored that big interview with Brian Dunkleman, the ONE TRUE host of American Idol. Unfortunately, it turns out that he’s barely as interesting as ASCAP night at the Basement, so I had to sell the shit to Nashville Cream for a cool six of Tecate. I know, right? I got such a buzz on that I decided to add some more pictures to the internet.


Here’s one of the chicks from the Clutters, all bragging about how some famous person thinks they’re really “garagey.” She said that after they were (mistakenly included) in an issue of Rolling Stone (like on the back page, probably) Chicken Ranch gave everybody in the band these special credit cards that make beer free on the east side. Check this out: I saw that bitch pay a dude to go buy one of those novelty cigarette lighters for the express purpose that she would then be able to set money on fire to light her smokes. Some people!