I Made $100 on Saturday Night
I had more hair on my face than many people have on their entire body. The guys have been relentlessly teasing me, telling me how I'll never get laid with *the mitt*. Then I say I have a new gf & she loves it & they ask me if she's a bag lady. Heh.

So John, in his patented faux-serious look & tone, says SHAVE that FUCKING thing OFF! Then he offers me $50. I say if it's matched I'll do it.

Can we do it? Sure! Can we take out time over the entire night & fuck with it? As long as I look normal by the time I leave, sure!

Len ponies up $25, thinking he & John are gonna split 50/50. I decline - $100 on the table & it's a deal. You'll keep it off? What're the terms? The life of the band. Uh - noOOoo - I plan to be playing with you guys into my senior years, & it's gonna get cold in the winter. First snowfall. First snowfall WHERE? Here in Barrie (semantic motherfuckers). I dunno, man, says John.

Peter next door, the old Rush roadie, says Hey, I don't even CARE & I'll put up the other $25 & first snowfall's fine with me. John relents.

We mix more drinks & the fun begins.





Johnny Wadd's $50 bought him first-swipe.










Those're some bigassed chops.




I told Tamara I was trying to not look at her boobs. She said she didn't care, the flirty girl.




Her man, Lenny, had to get in on the action...


...& pulled this unfallen nest off my face.


I look MAH-vellous.


Dessert.






Peter next door has lived, but I think this was a new experience even for him.












Lop-sided brutha.


John, back into the action, lamented he hadn't left me the hair for a Hitler. Next spring, he promised.












Fuck all y'all...


...but I loves ya.








Mein poor biert. I haff lost my best friend.


C'mere, bitch.








...must...drink...more...


I'm dead sex-ay.




Pretend it's your birthday...






... & make a wish.






YAR!


I fucking rawk.


And apologies for the black - we were partying by candlelight.