Me: Damnit.
Matt: What, man?
Me: I'm half-way through my first beer of the night, and I've just now realized that I'm drinking. It tastes great.
Tuesdays, historically infamous around these parts, almost always spell certain disaster for the two of us here at 2171. A few Tuesdays ago, we were accosted by the treacherous Tuco the Rat, and held watch over his vile rodent-hole (in the wall, not in under his tail) until 3 a.m. Next Tuesday my cat, Karlos Rambeau Russler died. The week after that, we were involved in the apprehension of a crackhead felon burgling bastard, which resulted in police station questioning until 4 a.m. The ominous third day of every week constantly shrouds our lives like a spiteful cumulonimbus hell-cloud. A safeguard we regularly practice on Tuesdays is heavy drinking sessions. While this is not an entirely infallible tactic, it nonetheless deadens the feeling of impending doom. That being said, it's 9:40 on the first night of this new blog, and Matt and I are drinking steadfastly. Cheers, all. Good night, and let's hope that evil shit doesn't happen again tonight. We both have to be at work at 8.
Footnote: The Tuco Story and the College Street Criminal Story will probably be transcribed for you relatively soon.
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