Now this is more like it: a classic fuzzy Woundup post. We went to the sushi hut last night, where they whip their employees. Didn't see any whipping, but I toasted a couple of sakes to the westward development of dog salons down Division. Those dogs ate better than any of us did last night--and that includes the visiting Yamaha executives.
Add to that a couple brewtas at the ol' Darkroom and...Yes, here I am, back in the pressurized cabin. The co-pilot took the day off for the high holiday. The only substance in my body: Pepsi.
I have become an angry driver in Chicago and may have to be driven around like Keith Moon soon. I don't know how this happened to me. Erika's going to buy a straight jacket this weekend at the Hal Markofsky estate sale. It's hard to get that 1950's Bellevue quality anymore.
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