There I was, there I was, there I was…AT the 3 Crow. All-out minding my buzzniss when this hobo nudged me and went, “Dude, whatever happened to taytyme?” I was like, “I don’t know who this guy is, he must be in De Novo Dahl. And what is Tay-time? Sounds like one of those unexpected slogans on candy hearts, like ‘hott stuff,’ ‘email,’ ‘skin it back,’ ‘tay-time.’ Yeah, yeah, like you’d say, ‘Baby, you know I play the drums, how about after the show you drive us to your place for some tay-time.’”

That’s when it hit me like a whiff of my own Sunday morning breff. “I am so much of a turd. I have blue-balled all my peeps way fierce with none of updates for so long that I forgot I even had a personality. Didn’t I used to be a pro internetter?” But don’t doubt me for too long, byitches, cause I got up a jones right then and there to let loose a summer storm full of cusses and typos straight out of Hail and still on fi-yahhhh!(.) I rang Larry J. to remind me how to get to my page, which took way too long due to his confusing my password with several of his own to porno subscription sites, and now here I am, all kinds of ready to lay the Word on you fags. Take it easy on me if it turns out such that I need to ease back into this balony, k? This shit might suck a thing or two.

Now I’d surmise that you might take my absence as a sign that shit’s been hitting the flan around Tay’s parts, but that’s just carzy. Everybody knows that this guy’s been on permanent taycation for a whole generation. And chim-chiminey charoo, brothers. Ain’t nothing’s hit Tay’s parts in a damn shame of a while.

What’s happened since I last typed at you? Four things. For starters, just about everybody including yours truly peed on themselves last week. Soiling yourself in the course of carrying out an act of misadventure is totally the new awesome. What’s your in-the-12-ounce-can-in-the-back-seat-of-the-car vs. all-over-your-own-pants pee ratio? Did you briss it up? How many somersaults can YOU do mid-void? On Friday I saw a girl do three, and they were all backwards. Beat that and you win the Yellow Badge of Courage.

Thanks to Dean the lion-hearted, we now know that Josh from the Squibs is secretly a Canadian person. I KNOW. His bass tone seems better than that. As you’ve no doubt heard, Dean’s Larry Norman Conquest has finally felled some folks, and they’re all mitay pleased about it. But Josh, keeping in step with the unwashed masses of America haters that Dean’s had the misfortune to have surrounded himself with for the past 20 years, weirdly described the piano sound on “I am a Servant” as “ridiculous” instead of “bad-ass.” Sorry, dude. You’re out of the club.

Speaking of our fair country, it’s good to know that everyone’s favorite sensitive drummer with a heart of gold and an ass full of gas Aaron “They Say an Old Guitar is all He Canna” Ford is back from the USA’s European colonies and protectorates. Word has it that while overseas he hell of learned to eat beans and mostly wore a speedo. Hey, a fella gets loony on the road.

Finally, I leave you with this warning. If I choose be in the same room as you and you choose to try to make me dig on some ELO, be the fuck ware. Faster than Duraluxe can kill a 12-pack, I’ll tell you that ELO is the gay man’s ABBA and leave said room on a mission to be somewhere where Jeff Lynne's crazy bullshit isn’t. You have been warned. Trust me, you don’t want this guy to not still be at your party at four AM.

On that note,

I am your Mayor,

Taytyme.