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Wednesday - 3/01/06 
10:01am
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After coming through the lake effect snow off Western Pennsylvania I proceeded west and contacted the Ex Big brother of my cousin from Brighton, MA. He was part of the Big brother organization and not his genetic brother. He was more than happy to let me stay even though my call came at the last minute as I was unsure of my plans. His family were equally accommodating and I was glad to meet all of them. I set up the VSO in the living room and after hearing me play he said he would like to have me stay on and play at the surprise birthday party he was having for his wife the following Sunday. I had been anxious to get out west but I agreed to stay for a full 6 days while they carried on their day to day lives. Due to the "inexpensive" lodging and free meals I gladly agreed. Doing a VSO gig requires far less than that for me to play as any audience inspires me and gives me a chance to troubleshoot the system which is forever evolving both musically and technically. The party went really well. I showed considerable restraint and played quiet symphonic improvisation during the meal and then spiced it up with some Jazz improv. A little later I played Santana - Evil Ways at the request of one of the attendees but the atmospere didn't seem appropriate and I was holding back. After that I played a duet with his daughter. She was on the grand piano near where my equipment was set up. All in all it was a great experience and I imagine my journey would be worlds different if I hadn't stayed on with them. I look forward to seeing them again.

"Heading west with the odds Stacked in my favor..."

Hello Bloggers! Well it's 10 am, ah-ha! no it isn't, it's actually 11am for most of the sorry folks reading this stuck in the cold up there in the northeast. I won't mind flaunting/bragging/blogging that it is supposed to hit 70 in St. Louis today, which is where I am. Now let's pause to share a resounding "Ha- Ha!!" to all the folks dealing with freezing temperatures (not you Erik)(you're in Florida)(I laugh at you for other reasons)(So are you fired yet?)(ha-ha) ok enough about Erik. My Journey yesterday was quite long. 600 + miles. I left just before 9am and was well rested for my trek. Mapquest said that it was 10-1/2 hours from Somerset PA (Pennsylvania mom, Pennsylvania) to St. Louis which was a gross overstatement. I did it in less than 9 hours. Mapquest must have been catering to all those drivers who drive like my great Aunt Harriet, and I don't even have a great aunt Harriet. Or maybe I do...mom...can you clarify this? Even if you didn't exist, like my great aunt Harriet, you would be able to get there in less than 10-1/2 hours. Actually if you didn't exist you would probably get there sooner, almost instantaneously because if you didn't exist (like my great aunt Harriet) you wouldn't exist everywhere all at once, making for short travel time, though you wouldn't enjoy it as much. Continuing with my blog jumping contest- I went through the rest of PA (speakers mom, speakers) and into West Virginia (which only lasted 20 minutes as I went through the top part that looks like a crown or misshaped pineapple frawn) There was a cool tunnel there, (pics provided to encourage your jealousy)

This is the entrance to the tunnel

This is inside the tunnel

That was the most exciting thing in West Virginia. I guess I didn't give it much of a chance only being there 20 minutes but I'm not about to move there regardless. So after the mind blowing tunnel I made it into Ohio into corn country, only problem is there wasn't even any corn to look at (it's winter) so I stopped at the grocery store and picked up some corn and taped it with scotch tape to the passenger side window so I'd have something to look at. Unfortunately it was canned corn so it didn't have the same effect but at least it was something to look at. Something... anything... I admit that in the past I have missed exits by not reading the signs on the highway. I assure you that wasn't the case here as:

A) I don't want to get lost, and 

B) They are the only things to look at in this flat-ass landscape. 

Holy crapola. My truck did enjoy the flatness though. It was wheezing like a demented version of Thomas the train engine going up some of the hills in the Poconos the other day, packed to the hilt with oversized and costly VSO apparatus. So then I eventually went through Columbus Ohio, pictured below-

Actually I'm not sure if this is Columbus, Indianapolis, Dayton or Springfield as they all looked the same when I downloaded them from my camera. As you can see the skyscrapers are merely treescrapers as some of the local trees tower above this wannabe megalopolis, or microlopolis. Along the way I managed to only run over 2 previously slain roadkills. The first one was a skunk. After driving over it I figured I would be tortured by the rank smell of the thing for the next 400 miles but somehow the scent gland remained intact after being subjected to the fleeting force of my Uniroyals (tires mom, tires)(no I'm not going to link to that stupid tire picture) to refresh, below is the time table for my trip in my opinion. Somehow I managed to hit all the cities (cuties) at the top of the hour which is a coincidence, unless they set it up that way to defer mass insanity from folks having nothing else to look at. I'm pretty sure most of these cities were just cardboard cutouts provided for said reason. My progress was as follows-

 I suppose I didn't need to insert a table for that but 

After Ohio (where I ran into many truckers)(or should have ran into them) I think green trucks are the most offensive, and most decrepit. What the heck was I gonna say? I don't remember, oh yeah, Orange trucks are next in line, then red trucks. I'm not sure why color plays such a pivotal role in general agg-rig-vation caused by these trucks but it seems to be a universal theme. The guy driving this one green truck must have been the great uncle of that other guy I was ranting about back in PA, this guy's a complete bubblehead. This truck makes the other truck I was ranting on look like the most gleaming showroom condition Peterbuilt ever built, by Peter. Where are you going Mr. trucker? What are you carrying that is so important that you have to pass the other truck and get in my way? It better be VSO gear..blinking idiot..It takes you 17 minutes to pass the other truck in the right lane..just let me go first. You're so fat I can see your belly button from where I am, driving behind you. Where are you off to?? Gotta get home to milk the pigs?? I'm trying to save the planet here..

LET ME BY

Ok I'm feeling a little better.

However, I do have a tip for all you people who may be driving out here in Indiana or wherever the heck I am. When you suddenly see a truck veer to the right, this means he is about to swerve left into the passing lane to cut you off. I suppose he's working up some momentum to get in front of you in a belligerent manner. That's their way of telling you "I am a complete baffoon".."I have to get in front of you for no apparent reason as all us truckers will inevitably just be traveling in a massive clump-voy down the highway like an entire box of raisin bran lodged in your bowel"

I saw a few of the truckers in the rest stop I stopped at to eat lunch. I'm glad I didn't give them any fingerings along the way as it surely and sorely would have caught up to me here. I have avoided all forms of road rage for my trip which has been very trying... Trying to get past these stupid mother trucks.

Ya Ya, Tom Raper, we get it. This guy is selling RV's. He's got some hokey business selling RV's out here in Indiana or wherever the heck I am. He's got these huge signs "Tom Raper's RV's" strewn along the side of the road. There's like 15 of them every 50 yards, these huge billboards. Actually there weren't 15, there were more like 8. Isn't exaggeration great? So I'm driving past these 6 signs thinking why is this Raper guy raping the landscape with this feeble attempt to get me to enlist in some trailer trash? I think not. I'd rather be a Uniroyal trodden skunk. Of the 4 signs I was able to get these 3 (2) on(e) film.

All ranting aside I had a great drive despite the truckers and canned corn. Below are some scenic shots I took out the window in blog fashion

On a serious note (ya right) I went through a few other mindless states and reached St. Louis just in time for rush hour which really wasn't that bad. I am staying with my cousin's friend. Actually he is the big brother of my cousin (not genetically)(Big Brother in the sense that he was in the big brother organization) He and his family were kind enough to let me stay at their place in St. Louis. Below is a picture of the famed arch, which I later learned is the the official "gateway to the west" which is where I'm headed.

I found out the hard way that this arch isn't one of the famed "Golden Arches" as in McDonalds. I was hurried off by the S.W.A.T. team while waiting at the base of the arch for an inordinate amount of time for my #3 value meal with diet coke.

So the place I'm staying is in a suburb of St. Louis and it's a really nice house. I'm finally over the Mississippi river, Em-eye-es-es-eye-es-es-eye-pee-pee-eye if pronounced phonetically, and Yo-em-eye-es-da-rappa-eye-em-pee-pee-yo if pronounced using ebonics. Speaking of rappers, why do all those kids into rap wear their pants down around their ankles? is it some form of Elvish ritual? I was discussing this with the daughter of the guy with whom I'm staying last night. She said there is one kid at school who wears his pants this way in gym class. When he tries to do any running they fall off and land around his ankles for real. Is this really that cool? 
I think not. Therefore I am (cool) In fact I could wear a moo-moo and purple spike wig with hot pink lipstick while playing VSO and still be considered ultimately cool as VSO is so out of bounds. I'll do some more blogging later, these folks have wireless internet so I'll be able to blog about it per anduinium. Not sure what the heck that means but I will be staying here for a day as I'm beat from psuedo-corn watching. 
Mo' lata

Thursday - 3/02/06 

11:13am

Man I'm sick as a blog. Actually that's not true, I'm sick as a blat. What is a "blat" you ask? It could be a mutated form of the word "cat", or it could be a mutated form of the word "bat" or it could be another species of non-fauna altogether. With 4 eyes and 26 nipples. Actually I am not sick as a blog, blat, dog or cat but I do have a blat of a cold, sorry, "bit" of a cold. I think it is from the climate change coming through canned corn country. In short I have the sniffles. I don't feel all that sick but don't feel like driving another 600 miles and dealing with truckers so I'm staying in St. Louis for a few days. The folks I'm staying with are super-nice. A super family. Super like the Incredibles although they are more incredible than that (and far less fictitious) 

Yesterday, (forgive me for not blogging it then)(but I was busy which will be described in the following utterance) Yesterday, (forgive me for not blogging it then)(but I was busy which will be described in the following utterance) Yesterday, (forgive me for not blogging it then)(but I was busy which will be described in the following utterance) Yesterday, (forgive me for not blogging it then)(but I was busy which will be described in the following utterance) Yesterday, (forgive me for not blogging it then)(but I was busy which will be described in the following utterance)   Ok I seem to be in some kind of feedback loop here and have just slapped myself silly and am back on track. Yesterday, (forgive me for not blogging it then)(but I was busy which will be described in the following utterance) Yesterday, (forgive me for not blogging it then)(but I was busy which will be described in the following utterance) Yesterday, (forgive me for not blogging it then)(but I was busy which will be described in the following utterance) Crap there it goes again, damn blog. OK for real, Yesterday I set up the VSO gear in the nice and incredible house of the folks with which and with whom I'm staying. 

Needless to say they were impressed (I'm not suprised as even Michelangelo Einstein Rockefeller III would no doubt be impressed with the VSO) Then I started playing it and they were even more impressed. The two daughters of which and whom with I am staying, and their Elvish friend were most impressed of all. It seems younger folk are most impressed with the VSO which is a good thing as they are young, hip, and have deep pockets. Hip pockets as well. Or sparkly blue jean pockets if you are one of the girls I'm staying with in the house within whom which I'm staying with. Are you following this? Hold on I have to blog my nose. Ok, so I let them try it (VSO)(not blogging my nose)(that would be gross)(grossly overweight) HOOAH! Like I said The girls were impressed. They tried their hand at it, or feet in this case, and were even more impressed by it's insurmountably cool nature (VSO) One of the daughters (who shall remain nameless)(the one with the sparkly blue jean pockets) plays the piano, which I can't do at all. Piano is the most bitchin' of an instrument ever created. Actually that's not true. I think pedal steel guitar is officially the most difficult instrument to play on record (or cd)- 

Look at that stupid thing...makes VSO look like a kazoo. Hold on that's not true either. VSO is far and away the most incredibly insurmountable instrument to instrumentate. (in a blog way) Pedal steel is tough though/, sorry "." It involves (as described in the Lesh audio book) footpedals, knee levers, slides, strings, blogs and clogs. Actually you couldn't play it wearing clogs I bet. and blogs are right out. Piano playing has always given me a miss because of the "each hand doing a separate part" factor. You say "Greg, how can you think that's hard after playing the VSO?". The truth is this- I have tried to play the piano but it just ain't happenin'. Performing VSO has split my brain up in regards to 'upper' and 'lower' extremities. When I try to play piano my brain goes on strike and says "uh-uh", or, "no way buddy". Fellow guitarists out there will agree that playing the guitar involves synching up your two hands, both working for a common goal. The left hand fingers the notes/chords (no fingerings) and the right hand picks, plucks, or strums to make it all happen. On the piano each hand plays a different part which to me is ludicrous, or Ludi-Criss if pronounced using ebonics. If I were to put any time into trying to play piano the proper way I would no doubt have a stroke or give birth to a blat which would be quite painful. This is the house I'm staying in-

Not sure where that came from but this is the house down the street-

As you can see there is a fashionable blue tarp on the roof. As unfashionable as we all know that is, it's really there because a tornado apparently came through the neighborhood last November (a similar destructive force [known as VSO] is sure to cause some serious tarpage in the next day or two and cause some serious tarpal tunnel syndrome)

This tornado went right down the street as described by the owner of the house in which, with which, with whom, and within which and whom with which I'm staying. He said it was rare to get a tornado in St. Louis and it was a frightening experience. Not half as scarifying as the VSO, which shall remain tarpless. Back to our story- Damn pianos!

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9:53pm
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Oh my Blog. or- oh my blat. These incredible folks I'm staying with have the most incredible pets. A blog and two blats. (Dog and two cats) (not a frog and two bats) As you know I have a bit of a cold. I think my cold has been compounded threefold by my confounded allergy to cats. This wouldn't be so blad if I didn't feel inclined to pet the cat every 4 minutes. It is the coolest cat, and I just cat resist (sorry can't resist)(or did you even notice?)(notice what?)(sorry, it's my allergies) Actually there are two cants of the feline persuasion but one is a bit(ch) shy and I haven't seen him/her..? as much. The ultimately incredible and ultimately ultimate allergy inspiring cat is this one-

She's one of those cats that is ruthless about receiving attention, and attentively attends and lends attentive attendance to every attendable petting assembly attended. The only problem with this is that the ensuing dander cloud really makes my nose run, my eyes water, and causes general congestion in the skull area. I don't seem to mind as I keep torturing myself with my incessant pettiology. Which I'm majoring in, or minoring in, and it's major, and, in no minor way; petty. This majorly incessant petting is in no way minor, and is more along the lines of macropetting. They also have a blog. I mean dog. Not "a mean dog", you misunderstood...I said "I mean dog", not "a mean dog". This blog, or dog if I'd stop being so ridiculous is the coolest man's best friend ever known to man, or his best friend. She is pictured below-

The only problem with this blog (dog) is that she has a serious licking problem. She was like liking licking my fingers for like 45 minutes and surely liked liking the licking. I must be finger licking good. We were surely clicking...or licking. She surely had me licked, that's for surely. 

After my involuntary yet self inflicted tongue bath I proceeded to pet the blat again ("cat" if I'd stop being so Ludi-Criss)(which yo, I won't)(got it homeslice?)(and pull up your pants already) (blat's off to you for reading this far) Petting the cat once again flared up my sniffles but I surely can't seem to get me enough random dander to meander and slander me. I couldn't find the other blat, so below is a picture of the first blat again minus the black nose (the other blat's a brown noser)(or pink noser if I had to be completely exhausted)

So after awhile I just had to stop as my nose was running so bad. I went through like 7 cases of kleenex but I continued to blet the blat. I almost had to call 911 due to my alleged allergies. Silly me, and not just for bletting the blat. Forgetting petting the blat (cat) for a moment below is the stupid and awe de-spiring piano which makes me zealously jealous with zealous jealousy towards anyone who can play the stupid thing (yes you Ms. Sparklepants)-

I didn't pet the piano, blats off to me. After petting the dog, bletting the blat, batting the blog and blogging the frog... Wait I lost you, and me as well. All bletting aside, and all blogging aside, all bets are off. The dog started to eat the cat after I refused to like being licked anymore.

This was not staged, the blog's serious licking problem turned into a serious blogfight, or blatfight if I could blee so blatty. The blogfight only blasted a few bleconds before I broke it up after blaking the blicture. Then the blog blayed dead on the couch after to avoid a serious bleating. 

I know sheep was alive as her bleyes were blopen. Blats off to her for trying blough. After the whole blordeal I blat down and continued to blet the blat and blet the blog and blew my blose ball blay blong.....blah-choo

Blee Blend

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Friday - 3/03/06 
2:25pm
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So I'm sitting here petting the dog, breathing dog hair, which I suppose is better than breathing blat hair, but we won't get into blat again. I just got black from taking a drive. A drive to Radioshack. 

or

If pronounced using ebonics. 

Which I just realized they already thought of 

My most beloved of all geeky non official musician vendors which shall remain and cost less. Of course I needed to buy a cord (wire)[cable]{tentacle}(future noose) Of the 897 wires I planned to bring I guess only 896 made it in the bag, or fag, if I could call myself one for not packing said blinking cord. So I go to RS (Radioshack) and this really nice cutie behind the counter greeted me with a resounding "Hi!" when I walked in the store. I was set aback by her courtesy but then I remembered this is the midwest, and not mass(ively)uptight-a-choo-setts. Of course the cord I was looking for wasn't in stock, or "Stack" if it were the folks with whom, whom with, without whom, I wouldn't be staying. 

With all that in mind she proceeded to look on the internet (RS.com)(figure it out) from the computer behind the counter. She invited my to browse for a moment with her behind the register. This came as a complete surprise to me, as back in the northeast any motion even towards the counter prompts the cashier to hit the silent alarm and have Sheeba the dog let loose (who will be described momentarily) I looked and found the wire and she affirmed that it wasn't in stock, or in Stack, or in block, H&R Block. OH SH*OT!!! I forgot to do my taxes!! No I didn't. I'm getting some much needed moolat$ki back in the form of a refund, or "reverse government fraud return" if I was to be so mello-dramatic. Noticing the cashier had the same eye socket pouch as basement girl, I fidgeted lightly and she nervously asked another Toys-RS employee for directions to a neighboring RS store, where they had the item in Stack. She said "Bill" (or some name) "How do you get to the RS in Brentwood?". The kid looks at her like a newborn yet to be slapped by the doctor and says "From here?". No, from Massachusetts. What is this bucktooth bowlhead thinking? 

Hey let me tell you what, I'll drive up the street and get lost as I'm from out of town, give you a call on my cellphone and you can call 911 to get me out of the whole mess. Of course from here you idiot. I really shouldn't be so hard on him. He was very helpful. Witch reminds me, they don't use horns in the midwest. It is the most pleasant place to drive ever and the courtesy shown by these midwest folk on the road evades me as I swerve and change lanes illegally in all my horny fingerings, but I'm really trying to be a better driver out here. In all seriouslessness the drivers carry the whole nice driver thing too far. At one point this guy continued to stop at a red light which had turned green. He sat there reading his paper and shaving as the other cars dewelled behind him in an awaiting fashion. These people were too polite for even a light tap attn. getting tarpal tunnel from blogging horn tooting so he would hit the gas and proceed down the street. I though of honking hornily at him but I refrained, and remained motionless. All motion aside it really is great driving out here in courtesy-land. After the Radioshack cuitie gave me the directions I obviously wasn't going to use I proceeded to give them both a pair of scissors in their trusty sheaths and walked out the door in dis-gust, oh wait it was this-gust. Back out into the windy day gusting and wheezing all the way like a DVOTTTE. A Radioshack Devotee engine that couldn't that's for surely. All this leads me to the fact that I myself am just a bucktooth bowlheaded

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Saturday - 3/04/06 
9:05am
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So as we all know I had been staying in the house 
of which and with which witches I've been staying

Saturday we went to Ms. Sparklepants basketball game. She is the witch on the right. The good witch of the right. Not to leave her sister out (who's on the left)(the good witch of the left) Ms. Sparklepants is quite a blasketball player, or playa' if pronounced using ebonics. As you can see from the photos below, despite her lack of band-aid removal technique she is incredibly fast and had a most incredible technique aiding the band on the basketball court. She was in fact so fast that she showed up as a mere yellow blur on the resulting pictures I downloaded from my digital camera, which shall remain film-less. Check out just how fast she was-

Except of course when she was sitting on the bench

She was surely bound by k(no)w wires as she scurried down the court like a scurrying shrew. In all her anti-anti glory category. In fact she's so fast I'm surprised I even met her at all. As in the old tale of the sloth and the hummingbird tail. They are the most opposing animals (teams) known to man (me) in terms of quickness or wireless inherinet speed. Unless you count fauna (plants/trees) but that's another subject altogether, and I'll leaf that alone for now. The Sloth is the slowest animal on earth, and the hummingbird, the fastest. Their perceptions of the world must be worlds different. In a worldly way (or a wordy way if I was describing it myself (me)[I]{David}the nailgunner, which I am. All David aside the sloth and hummingbird may never actually "meet" or acknowledge each others presence even if they did cross paths, as the differential difference in their time/space/nebula perception is so vastly different. This was nearly the case with Ms. Sparklepants and I(me)[myself], but I did get the chance to meet her in the blinking of an eye [I] as she paused momentarily to sip nectar from some nearby fauna (flowers). I suppose I don't consider myself a sloth. I'm not a sloth so much as I am a bigfoot (Sasquach). Some of the hair raising music musician licking licks which and of which I can pull off behind my head using my tongue and my big-foot are a testament to that. You ask- "Why Blogory?"..."Why is your hemorrhoidal bl-ego suddenly flaring up?" I don't know, nor do I care to know. You know? well do you?? Obviously due to her wireless in-the-net speed, Ms. Sparklepants' team with whom and on which she was playing won the game by a landslide. I forget the exact score but it's on my digital (camera) and I will download it thusly

Oh there it is. Quite a landslide for Ms. Sparklepant's team. 26 to 16 in her team's favor. I must say the game was pretty rockin' and they could have won even without me(myself)[I] harassing the other team members and throwing extra basketballs onto the court during the game in a belligerent manner, distracting them, which of, and of which I didn't really do, but shouldn't not have shouldn't have (double triple reverse negative)(meaning- I should have)(I think). As you can see that was a run-on, and the St. Louis Sparkles annihilated the other team by almost double (negative) and they deserve all the glory, trophies and general hoo-hah regarding their victory (negative). The game was a fun time and for all, sheer excitement...except for the sheer, excitement-killing shrill-for-all buzzing of the buzzer they buzzed to indicate the period breaks. This buzzer must have been a Dennis Rodman special issue Olympic super-sized #3 stadium-girth macro-buzzer with diet coke and lojack...but crammed into this smallish flip-flop of a gymnasium. The woman in whose whouse I whas staying used to teach behind the curtain in the gymnasium. Witch shall remain wall-less. She said that the bouncing blasketballs used to blounce off the curtain and the blasted bulb in the blinking light used to burn out and it would take an irreverantly inordinate amount of time to get the blulb changed. Another shrill auditory presence within the Jimnasium was the presence of Mr. Extreme whistle blower and his whistle blowing present to all of us present-

This presidential presenter of presents presents a problem as this guy was waaaay too into his job (blob) and he must have been enViSiOning the LA Lakers in front of him as he pranced Bambi-lly up and down the court in all his anti-glory blowing his whistle like a demented version of Thomas the train engine. He simply was blowing the whistle way too loud, and I'm blowing the whistle on him...or flagging him. (flogging) Actually he was probably volunteering (I'm sure he wasn't making a six-figure salary by being the ref at a local school blee-ball game so blats off to him) If he was making six-fligures (six-flagures)(six flags) I'm blowing the whistle on him. All amusement aside, in conclusion (ya right) I'd like to say that Ms. Sparklepants wears braces. I'm not sure why, as her teeth, in all their straightness, seem geometrically perfect to me. I'm pretty sure she's actually some sort of Braces Proving Ground, or BPG, as her teeth are so straight. Numerous drive-thru orthodontists in the St. Louis area have no doubt fit her with VariOuS (cr*p) type braces to ensure they are straight enough before putting them on kids who really need and/or deserve them.

Ms. Sparklepants has a sister too...

(You knew it was coming) 

We'll call her Ms. Sparklepurse

She drove us all in a belligerent manner in the minivan to the basketball which shall remain game-less. Her driving was making me crazy, just like in driving Miss Daisy (Ms. Daisy if I could, should, and would be so repetitive) Actually her driving was just fine. She missed hitting all the Miss Daisy's along the way (Ms. Daisies) It's her parallel parking (blarking) I'm worried about. She insisted on parallel blarking (parking) even though there were a vast array of normal spot pakring-lot type-o parking spots available in which and of which to park in. I'm sure her decision to parallel blark wasn't taken lightly and she thought about the endeavor with an intuitive vigor. She surely wanted to practice for her upcoming drivers license test in a couple weeks when she turns 16 (bleet blixteen) Here is a picture of Ms. Parklepurses' feeble attempt to parallel park-

As you can see she didn't quite get it. 

We had to take a shuttle bus from the minivan to the curb. 

OK(lahoma) I'll stop bleing such a mean bleing. Ms. Sparklepark was a great driver and parker/Sparkler (especially in that blig ole' minivan) and she was equally great in dealing with me raiding her house and fridge as a lowlife drifter-type wannabe musician for weeks on end in Sasquachian fashion. That's a fact-squatch. In truth, I myself (Me)[I] would have crashed the macro-van through the gymnasium wall trying to park it, and would surely have wreaked havoc on the preceding basketball team(s) of which and who which were playing in the gym at the time, trying to park that idling mini-greyhound-fun-tours bus, even now, with all my inherent driving experience, would be tough, let alone when I was 15-7/8 years of age. OK I know that was another run-on, and I'll stop talking about Ms. Sparklepurse now. Actually I won't. She is a fair Elvish maiden. With fair skin and chameleon-like eyes which change with what and whom with which color clothing she wears. I saw her one day and her eyes were a distinct green. The next day they were more hazel (witch hazel) When she comes near, boys usually just jump in nearby vans and speed off down the street apparently frightened by her vast appeal. Her friend Amelia too...Was it Amelia? I forget her name, I feel blawful. I know it blegins with an "A" Was it Alice? Audrey? I don't know whAt her name is in Amish but her Archery skills are quite Awe inspiring. Anyway, Ms. Sparklepurse and her friend Aurora were over the other day to get a VSO demo which was and was which somewhat crappy in my opinion. Needless to say they were impressed anyway. Basically all I really have to do is turn the blinking thing on (VSO) and walk away to raid the fridge in a chimp-like manner as folks are usually impressed merely by the VSO's array of blinking and sparkly lights. Ms. Sparklepants and her sister Ms. Sparlkepurse's friend Amanda (THAT'S IT!!!)(oh wait, no it isn't, I have to protect her Amanda-nimmity) Her name was Abigail. The Sparkle-twins were singing into the VSO rig for quite awhile, utilizing my illustrious vocal processor. This Elvish Elfen Elf duo were trying their hand (and feet) at being Elvish impersonators. They crooned and coughed a coughing song into the VSO's Telefunken U-247 microphone with an intuitive rig-or for nearly an hour with their Elvish chanting, which was actually quite hypnotic. (Kong-A-Tong-I-Eee) ...A sort of some kind of Chinese pig Latin laffin' Elvis Elfen Elvin Elvish selfish language which (and whom witch) shall remain more or less more than less Elvish than Elvis (pant, pant...this is a workout) OK back to Ms. Sparklepurse...and I bet she's just thrilled that we're getting back to her. She reminds me of my friend Lynnie-kins from back east who is a fair Elvish maiden herself. Actually Lynnie-kins looks more like Spongebob, and the laugh is indistinctishuable. Ms. Sparklepurse doesn't look as much like Spongebob. Actually she looks a lot like my other friend Melanie who shall remain. Less truthfully the devilishly Elvish Ms. Sparklepurse does look a lot like Elvish Presley, or Priscilla Presely to be more Pris-cise. Ms. Princess Priscilla Sparklepurse wasn't around as much as Ms. Sparklepants, probably due to my Sasquatchian presence within her witchy abode. She was No doubt- Just a girl, a typical teen, off galavanting around causing boys to flee in vans speeding off down the whichy a-road. She actually reminds me of myself [I] at that age minus the chameleon eyes and the guitar velcroed to my abdomen...and the fleeing van-boys are right out. Right out of sight. On the way right out of town I realized the real reason she wasn't around much is that she has an alternate life to the southwest of St Louis. I passed a snegalia of numerous road signs that clearly indicated this surmopsion-

She apparently is a fireworks guru and has her own fireworks factory
(By the way her name isn't Molly, I just put that in to protect her anono-molly-illity)

See, her name is really Mule-ey, this sign is proof...or at least it's a sign

We really need to have a talk with Ms. Sparklepurse

So after the blasketblall blame, which I won't be blamed for, 
or maybe witch I will, we all went to lunch at a fine pizza place. 

I was going to give lunch a'miss but instead we went to A'Mis

All a-misses aside (Ms.)(Miss)(Mrs.) It's pronounced "Ahh-Mee" ...and Ahh-mee, what a fine Amish almost-a-missed de-lish deep-dish pizza pub it was too. I've found myself a pizza publisher. Too bad I've left the area. I A-mish it already. They had 3 (three) types of pizza to choose from. We opted for the New York style and we all ate it with intuitive vigoroni. They also had the most devastating pre-pizza (prizza) bread-like variety rolls, of which we were all liking licking, and this salad dressing of which and from which I asked the cutie of a waitress to pack us some for the road. You see, I don't even like salad dressing, but even I liked licking this stuff. I'm sure It had almost as many calories as the puppy chow we all ate later in the weekend. The story on that is barf-coming. After the pizza place we drove around and looked at some of the impressive architecture in the area-

We had a grand time looking at all the local non-fauna, and the fauna as well until the blasted train crossed in front of us. This wouldn't be so bad if Ms. Sparklepants (under the guiding light of Ms. Sparklepurse) hadn't told me that trains in Missouri had no end. Apparently they just keep circling the globe in a big loop with no beginning or end which prompts the question- why even drive them around? or rail them around...like a rail-runner. Just simply walk up to whichever train car which has witch, in which and of whom the item you might be looking for. That made absolutely no sense, (as usual) but I'm tired. I'm starting to see double (negative). Positively all negatives aside (both double and triple) I had a fine time hanging out with the sisters, also known as the Incredible Sparklechicks, of which, whom which and with witches with which witch I was staying

Besides the Elvish witches of which and whom which of which bewitched witches of Eastwick (which) I was staying, I think all of the women in the woman in whose, of whose, and in whose which house and/or neighborhood in that there area where which I was staying were named Robin, which (of witch) it made it easy to remember their names. If everyone has the same name it's somewhat easy to remember names which some may say is blatant name-calling. It kind of reminds me of that old Monty Python sketch we some of us know all too well-

"Hello Brian"..."oh, hello Brian"... "This is my friend Brian"..."oh hello Brian"..."This is my other friend Brian"..."Hello Brian"..."and this is my other friend Brian"..."Hello Brian"..."and this is my friend Michael"......"What?...His name's not Brian?"..."No, it's Michael"..."Well that's going to cause a little confusion"

One of the Robins had an Incredible house with an Incredi-blee oversized kitchen. I thought I had taken a picture of said kitchen in the house of witch and in which I wasn't staying, but I couldn't find it when I looked on my camera. She (Robin) did have an original Salvdor Dali sketch which is sketchered below-

She isn't sure how much it is worth but it's bound to be worth-less than the Pseudo-scratch-sketch pad Mr. Sketchypants [I] was using on the ride yesterblay to jot down my tales of bloggitvity. I'm bloggative that this sprawled upon psuedo-writing pad which was really just a Wal-Mart Atlas (on the page displaying the various Wal-Mart locations around the country, which of which there are a plethora) My corporately influencial Wal-Mart scratch-pad is sketched below in a sketchy manner whilst wearing my sketchers-

This VSO blogumentary is surely to wind up selling for a fortune on Vbay one day, 
as long as I don't trash it...which is forthcoming.

Oh bly the way I found the other cat

How cute is that 
(blat)

and how cute is this-

(bliss)

After digging the ice cube out of the cats ear which witch and of which Ms. Sparklepants threw it, (witch) she proceeded to whip my billiardy-butt at pool. (Ms. Sparklepants whipped my butt, not the cat[s])(Rick, Rob and Paul, I know, I know... I should be ashamed of myself for getting my billiard-butt kicked by a 12 year old)(let alone a cat)(but I did have some pretty good shots)(I didn't even try my hand (feet) at foosball with her)(and I didn't even tell you about my getting my billiard-butt whipped by Sam the 8 year old but that story isn't forthcoming)(I know, I'm a disgrace) 

This is the pool table upon witch (which) I received my allergic alleged multiple butt-kickings

and this is the puppy chow we all ate-

This puppy chow stu*f is illegal in 49 states including Missouri but we ate it anyway with an intuitive vigorousity, or ytisuorogiv evitiutni if spelled backwards. When Ms. Sparklepants first told me that her family ate puppy chow I was high-tailing it for the door brandishing one last Roast beef sand-witch from the macro-raided fridge which shall remain less stocked 
(or Stack-ed if I could be so canned-corny) She later informed me that it was merely a slang term for this concoction witch is surely the sweetest thing known to man (me)...man, I know me that for surely. This is the crack of snack. There are numerous puppy chow snack-houses set up in downtown St. Louis (Saint Loo-ee) and the problem is getting out of handful. After gobbling several handfuls of this gobbleldy-gook I found myself with an immense stomach ache the size of Tulsa, which I guess wasn't that big. OK? This gratifyingly and gratuitously gracious grub contains roughly 4 lbs. of sugar per square inch, and is sure to make even the most die hard sugar fan (Ms. Mytsic storage) gasp for air in between brandishly handed branded handfuls. Here is the recipe for said puppy chow, but don't ever make it. They'll surely be bustin' down your door with a S.W.A.T.-tuitive vigor.

As it says in the big-foot-note: "Name brand peanut butter works best". Also, Mystery Mary forgot to mention- name brand brand antacids work best in recovery from this delightfully devilish dish, with which and of which shall remain more or less is mostly still sitting in my upper esophagus. The comment of which the student who presented the confectious canned cornicopia in Ms. Sparklepants class is the most endearing part of it all. It all reads- "I like it because it has chocolate on it". This has to be the understatement of the century. It's like saying the grand canned-canyon is just a ditch, which, of witch and which I guess it is, but my teeth still hurt from the whole ordeal on which, and of which the subject I will switch

 Which witch?

Timeless

Any notion of trying to insert a proper time heading for this Stack-stuff is pointless as I am sitting here days later in an irreverent manner in Oklahoma or Texas or wherever the heck I am posting things from future's past. This post-ceeding party story officially occurred on:

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sunday - 3/05/06 
9:05am
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OK-lahoma, I FINALLY get to blalk about the surprise birthday party fop P.J. (sorry- the party for PJ, I'm not sure where the "fop" came from) P.J. is the Incredibly nice and allegedly accomodating woman who let me sleep in the kitchen cupboard amongst the Count Chocula and Lucky Charms. This family has an inordinate amount of cerael jam packed into their abode which will be described momentarily... The suprise party occurred this past Sunday (3/5/06). Phew, I thought I was gonna lose my mind trying to keep this surprisingly secret surprising surprise surprise a surprise. I mean I'm just a drifter from out of town living under their non-existent porch in the back yard, eating table scraps from their overtly and overly abundant trash cans-

So I'm asking myself- what do I have to do with all this? All I wanted was a free ride and fridge-patrol duties. I hate surprise parties, and all the lying involved therin. We were working out these elaborate schemes so she wouldn't catch on. Here I am stuck in the middle of it and the blottom line is that the whole time I just want to raid their fridge and numerous cupboards. Speaking of they had some interesting signs on their fridge, witch I saw quite a lot of-

So all fridges aside (a fridge too far) and all burned bridges alight, I've been staying with which and with whom this family as a psuedo-drifter creep for the last 5 days not knowing what to make of the whole ordeal. The guy Pat I'm staying with asked if I would stay on and play (blay) at his wife's surprise blirthday party (50th)(and she doesn't look 50 bly the way)(how's that for retro-kissing-up?)(since I'm already gone I could say she looks 80 and not break a sweat as I'm outta-there and my mooching legacy with them is over) This birthday party was a great time and will be discussed at some length in the near future, no blog about it. Actually I will discuss it now. In lieu of me paying for all the roast beef, frosted flakes and non-fauna I ate; coupled with the bed, couch and cupboard I stayed on-

Which in which, of whom and with which whom the family I stayed, I agreed to play the VSO for the blirthday (dys)function. I showed up promptly in all my anti-glory and had the cutie working at the college where the party was to be held and of which the guy Pat worked, I asked said cutie to take my picture under the guise- 

"VSO has arrived"

Oh sorry,

"VSO has arrived"

I hurriedly set up my equipment in scurrying shrew-like licking fashion but in horror I suddenly realized in horror that I left my huge bag of cords in the guy who's hosting the parties trunk (car trunk, he isn't an elephant)(what were you thinking?) I realized this horrific realization while crouching on my knees in the back of my truck, pic provided to affirm Molly's inference that I am indeed psycho and truly need a job (blog) 

This gig reaffirmed that I learn at least One Valuable leSson during every gig I play. Todays lesson is- DON'T PUT STUFF IN OTHER PEOPLES POSSESSION THAT YOU MY NEED FOR A GIG AS THEY SPEED OFF INTO THE SUNSET YOU WANNA BE WOOLY SASQUACHIAN FREAKAZOID.

After my self-ranting I set up VSO in all it's macro-glory beside the grandiose-piano, which was in tune more or less to play a tune, and placed my tuning fork and spoon and extra extraneous gear and/or rack covers underneath and behind said piano in a pseudo-hidden fashion

This piano came complete with convenient and varying sized drink holders 
to accommodate numerous sized value meal drinks in the famed St. Louis arch area.

Here is the VSO set up in all it's glorious appeal

As I pat and wondered if I should call Pat, the guy hosting the party (Patrant pending) and risk spilling the beans by calling him and blowing the whole surprise so I crouched on my knees and prayed to the powers that blee that Pat would show up in a sooner than later fashion. He had gone to pick up his P.J.'s and was on his way to the party with her and the rest of his laundry.

So instead I watched Ms. Sparklepants Sparkle up my pedalboard

The sparkles she was sparkling with aren't as ViSible-O 
as I had anticipated but rest assured they were immensely sparkly

After these pictures my blinking digital camera's blinking battery light came on indicating that the battery had died. Of course it crap*ed out just as some really cool stuff was about to go on. An attentively assembled party attender and family member (attender) named Paul made a blogumentary film about P.J.'s life using video-tized still photos, and it still was really quite moving still, all blogging aside. We watched anxiously as her life unfolded before our eyes. Silly fake glasses and all.

Shortly after that, the chimps riding unicycles came in waving Sparklers (Ms.) These chimps (there must have been 15 of them) were all dressed up like the chimps, brandishing typewriters of the writer type as pictured in the irreverent monk-e-mail system. It was quite hilarious

Then the Beatles showed up to play a few ditties and I gladly relinquished my belliger-rant mini-self righteous stage spot next to the piano to hear them jam-out in true British fashion. I took pictures of all of them (dem all) which are pictured below for your amusement

Oh wait there are only two Beatles officially left

That's awful, all insects aside of the Beatle Genre 
the mammalian Monkeys showed up for a jam 

Davey was Jonesin' that he couldn't do a drum solo, but the band reminded him 
he wasn't the drummer so he politely agreed to continue in his canterwallowing

I can't believe the University sprung for the rollback foldaway ceiling as just then the hot air balloons came down to give everyone rides. I'm really sorry I missed the pix on that one.

Pat-man had an unfortunate mishap when he fell out of the balloon but was miraculously caught by one of the parading unicycle brandishing monkeys. Luckily he only lost his glasses in the incident. PJ'(s) had an extra pair of fake nose and glasses nearby so it wasn't a total loss. He actually looked quite becoming

Becoming a monkey

Oh wait there is a photo

This is a picture of the famed and silly as heck "Monk-e-mail" system located at www.careerbuilder.com I'm not sure what monkeys have to do with building a career, I have already been through my monkey career with Holli, the Holli-Day of Hollies. This ranting story isn't about Holli and her hugechestedness

so let's move on.

Onto P.J.

P.J. Stack

(and boy is she stacked)

P.J.'s is pictured below

No truthfully this is P.J.

This Pa-ja-Ma is one of the nicest people I've ever met. She is a sure trooper and is very into helping with local community affairs and boarding wandering Sasquachian entities squach as myself. She is an artist and a writer. A good one at that in both realms or any creative realm so I was led to believe by her kiss-up family. All blogging aside she is an art therapist who helps kids by using art as a medium to give them a feeling of accomplishment in an otherwise tough situation. Her artwork was quite remarkable which I will embark upon remarking about it now. She uses water colors much of the time, and even her early work, proudly displayed in self-righteous fashion in the classroom she teaches at (which shall remain gymnasiumless) 

This non-existent photo pictured above is a testament to her early abilities in the realm of sheer artistry. Below is a picture she painted in water color fashion (mostly blue) which reminds me of Renoir or Rembrandt or Michaelangelo if I could be so ignorant on great artists, such as P.J.

P.J. was parading around in her P.J.'s for most of my stay in an irreverantly blue fashion. 

I was impressed by her breast and the fact that she was doing her P.J. parading with a nearby drooling Sasquach dwelling in her abode. If I were back in Mass-hole-chusetts there would have been none of the P.J. parading that was going on in such a nonchalant manner as was going on in St. Louis (Lew-is) The laid back, alomst non existent lack of atmos-fear of Sasquach was really impressive and I felt right at home in my P.J.'s. All in all the party was a great time, I sparked the usual musical appeal amongst the partygoers. There were a few folk who were extra-impressed by the VSO in typical fashion. Per usual, everyone enjoyed the VSO, but there are always a small percentage of people (fools) who really get into it in a drooling Sasquachian likeness such as myself. I handed out my bluish self-righteous business cards to the lot of them. I am happy to have folks besides myself impressed by the VSO, and of this I am thankful and am happy to have played P.J.'s party in my P.J.'s amongst the smoke Stacks on the right side of the tracks in St. Louis

The End

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Onto Pat.

Pat Stack.

Which is thusly his name
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The name of whose guy is a host with the most, and did host 
and who in whose house which his witches do stay, and with which 
and with which said witches with the good witch on the right I was staying with most.

This is Pat

But seriously, this is Pat

Actually I will Pat his real Pature on here as I'm sure he wouldn't care

(If he does care I'm sure he will come flog me thusly)

This guy has to be the nicest guy I've met west of the Mississippi (eye was only 4 minutes west of the Mississippi, and I met with no other guise, so I guess he's not Pat cool) He let me stay at his house with him in which I was staying with him for an inordinate amount of time and co$tly time amount. I nearly ate him out of house and home-coming. Which is forth-coming. (Coming 4th of July)(on my way back from LA...a cow-plete and udder failure) I called him like the day before I was going to drive through St. Louis (Louie-Louie) Even though I had roughly16 months of which and in which to call him and prepare my America venture-a-highway. Right off the Pat he's like- "Sure, that would be fine to stay the night, there is a warm bed for you here." He didn't even blow his Stack. Of course he did end up Patting me up in a two-bit motel and paid by the hour amongst the rapping Puppy-chow addicts running rap-ant on rte 66 but nonetheless is a very cool guy despite his outcasting me to the slums of St. Louis. Speaking of, I'm glad to have stayed in at least one of the official original ratty rte. 66 shady motel hoe-tel no-tells along the official way in which and of which he put me up in, as one of the 735 Robins stole my homecoming bed right out from under me-

Instead I was subjected to the ranting rappers coughing 
laffin' outside my Yo-tel wrapping's wrapping wrapper 
(walls) 

These rappers were rapping a rap like a demented verizon of Thomas the train engine that couldn't. In all his anti-rail-running, nail-gunning glory. Speaking of, I have to pay my phone Bill (William)(Mac)(or)(Buddy){Sheryle}[Crow's off to you if you got that one] (Robin) The hotel was a bit of a dive, and I dove under the covers diving Miss Daisy diva in the divine divinity of what and which we all know Miss Daisies k(no)w witch. I  k)no(w that witch and of which for sure. I surely took some sorely pictures of the dwindling and decrepit anti-adobe-abode I dwelled into the night without which, witches or t.v. switches

As you can see due to lack of switching ability I was forced to watch the same blinking channel No. 5 cologne commercials all night due to the lack of remotely witchy switching. I tried to hook my LS-2 up to it for more switchable swicthabillity but finally and fanatically phonetically eye switched it off, but couldn't, and went off to bed. Only to find the bed and night table ridden with butt-lashing and ash-dropping butt-droppings from oncoming cigarette buttings.

So I got up to take a shower. Only to be showered with cracked pipe 
ceramic pipe crackings in-between my unshowered and crackly pipe toes.

(Mr. Crackletoes)

It was a bit cold, so I adjusted the duct-tape and cardboard 
wanna-be beater heater and drifted off to la-la land 
(blah-blah bland)

Eventually the heating de-element de' elementary my dear Watson 
duct tape on rye heating coil folded, foiled, and coiled to LaFleur

Leaving me leaving with a raspy rappers cough 
which and witch I still have, and so do the witches. 

Which witches?

'Dem witches....

'dem mean witches

This is the house that Pat dwells at-

Truthfully I don't want to lie. I went through enough of Pat dealing with the 
anti-surprise en-Sue-ing de-surprise party. This is really the house the Stacks built-

(Amongst the smoke-Stacks on the wrong side of the tracks)

Actually this is the dwelling to which is what I am telling

All jesting aside the Stacks have a lovely A-dobed and breakfast

adobe abode

Let's have a big round of applause for that adobe abode

How about an even bigger applauding