Bvvvvvp.
Wade went to Trash, Sophie didn’t. She went to bed. David went home.
If I were Wade I would not go to Trash. He is going to Paris tomorrow, for Love, to Fall right in it, and splash about like a greedy fish.
I did a lot today though. In my sweet little room in Sophie’s off Brick Lane with all the yellow jumpered children outside I have all my compuer terminals, and internet, and a mike, and a pre amp, and a Technics SL-DZ1200 and a pink iPod and a diddy midi keyboard and a red leather jacket that cost me a tenner and I bought it from Beyond Retro which is basically on the doorstep.
I saw my dear old friend Gourlay the other day. He marvelled at my jacket, and wondered what large fraction of my ten billion advance I’d spunked on it. He didn’t believe it was a tenner. Sophie mocks my super noodles. But I am not in the position to be buying baubles, oh my people. I have responsibilities. But I am in the position to do, well, pretty much anything I like, with my, um, stuff… You know, that… they gave me.
I can wake up and draw, and make tunes, and sing, and dance, and laugh, and bray, and giggle. I can make cartoons, and mixtapes. Today I was making a Stunners International one, for me and Wade and David and Birddogg’s awesome venture, the lashing together of all we are, and were.
I made a decision too.
Oh. The Drinking Song is no longer on the Newgrounds frontpage. But it has, at last checking, been viewed 91,791 times. With any luck, the uncensored, censored, and subtitle-less versions should grace this site tomorrow.
So, 79,884 people have watched the Drinking Song video on 
Firstly… that is true. Jeres took me to see them last night and we were both amazed at their awesome might.
Really, weed is such irritating bullshit. I am sick of it. It makes my belly churn and head ache. It renders mornings unimaginable feats of human endurance. It makes a mess. It encourages poor diet (like I need encouragement).
AT4 is online now! Go to the music bit. And take it. It is good. Birddogg returns with a load of his own productions married with the finest Tim Dog acapellas. I mash Carter and Vanilla and MOP and Big Pun (RIP).
Neanderthal internet connections notwithstanding, Chippenham is quite charming. Last night Birddogg took me to a tiny village with tiny stone houses with tiny doors and tiny stone walls and a tiny pub to celebrate a great bear of a man called Chapman’s birthday. Chapam looks like Godzilla striding about his minature village with a jug of birthday cider. Later he is to be found slinging firey sticks like a medieval Darth Maul. Not a peep from the neighbours. Here, a birthday is respected.
Greetings from historic Chippenham! I am afraid regular updates have been rendered entirely irregular, due to the prehistoric communications channels hereabouts. Ah ha!
Big Bun forever.
I awoke today all ow-ey and riddled with guilt, because I spent too much money on booze last night and of course I blame Wade. He rang me and asked me to come and soundsystem with him at Night Moves in Shoreditch, and I always wanted to play there, and I love Wade, so of course I went, and of course it was excellent. Wade played lots of throbbing electroey things and country and I rapped on top of a speaker.
