While in Swimwear

Well, balls!

We're moving this weekend! Yes! That's right: we're leaving the flophouse. We're killing the fucking flophouse. Andy's going to distract it by running around in scuba gear, and just when it looks away I'll run up out of nowhere and jam an electrified rod straight through it's stinky, vermin-infested heart . . . which is hopefully somewhere in the garbage disposal.

Moving is Saturday starting early and ending, hopefully, around dinner. If you're available, are a massochist/have a death wish, you are of course . . . welcome to join. But if you can't/are smart, the requisite afterparty will be open to you anyway. As long as you're willing to take off your clothes.

These are just a sample of the moving assignments:

Me: bedding, pillows, books, toiletries.

Goathead: Cleaning supplies, shirts.

Amish: Shoes.

Kevin(?): Loose paper, candy bars.

Sarah & Bunny: Get Ryan's TV downstairs, then Andy's dresser, Bunny's bed, the couch and the futon, then the bookshelves, dining room table, Ryan's bed, Andy's bed, as well as refreshments for us men. (Also, you need to take care of this while in swimwear.)