Last Call

Hey, I won second place in a pool tourney this weekend. The tourney was for a triple birthday of sorts, which made me realize what an utter cliche my tavern is: Celebrating were Jerry the Bartender, New York Tony, and Carl the Mauler. Pretty sure I don't have a nickname like that just yet.

Aside from that and a wonderful tale of the washing and rinsing of bovine testicles, not much in the way to exactly write home about. I've come to some internal terms (which may see light of day here), things continue to happen slowly and my trigger finger is getting itchy. If I wait too long, this sniper might wind up getting captured.

Oh, and sorry once again, Dag.