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Friday we headed over to The Otherside to shake our groove thangs and a change of scene. Some band whose name I can’t recall was doing a wide variety of slop 40 covers from the last couple of decades out on the deck. They did it with skill but I’d forgotten what a bore a cover band can be. Inside the DJ was spinning up a mega-redundant beat for moving your feet and the casual, friendly crowd wandered between the two scenes doing what all people do in bars everywhere - stare at eachother’s body parts. At one point a woman next to me caugt me ogling another. She looked to see what had my attention then turned back and said to me “Nice boobs!” I smiled and nodded my agreement. But by 2 AM the joint was nearly empty. It doesn’t match the late-night determination of the Backstreets crowd but it was a blast regardless.

First we said “No no no, the weapons inspectors are not spies.”
Then it was “OK, so we used intelligence people but just ‘cause we used spies doesn’t mean they were spyING.”
Finally we said “OK... they spied.”
I mentioned this to a girl at work and she said “Well DUH!”

For those curious about what happend with Degenerate Press’ vehicle, the transmission is shot and will cost more to repair than it is worth, even if we had the funds, which we don’t. We’re going to try to sell it to pay off what we owe, plus a handful of quarters to shop for a new used car. We’ve already mentioned this would be a good time to make an appointment to see the award-winning metal sculpture and furnishings we have for sale at the office...

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