This is Bob. Bob's fiancé Jennifer (who unbeknownst to her, happens to be my fiancé as well) sent a request to give old Bob a shout out for his birthday, which happens to be today. At 25 years old, Bob's not looking so good, but his spirit is young, and really, the sore back and swollen knees aside, when it gets right down to it, isn't that all that matters?
Anyhow Bob, from your substantially better half, as well as your friends at Swobo, happy birthday mate, and here is to at least 25 more.

Now then, it's time to get to business. we've got alot of stuff on deck, as well as the unenviable chore of trying to recall the last week in an attempt at throwing it all up here for your eyes and ears.

First up, Hurl and his doughnut queen made a blitzkrieg trip though our burgh, which ultimately resulted in him battling with Complayna for a garbage can to barf in, but up until that point, we did some of this;

-it should be noted that the above image is in contention for the cover of their yet unformed band's album cover.
Then when the posing was complete, we did some of this;

..to the secret stash;

Truth be told, we really didn't need to hit the secret stash up as we were carrying a rather unreasonable amount of spirits on our persons as it was, but we drank these just for the novelties sake, and then promptly replenished the booty.
After touching rubber to terra firma, and spirits to tounge, we disbanded to civilization and nourishment. The long and the short of which, for me anyhow, resulted in the snorting of a shot of whisky.
Snorting.
Through the nose...
I don't recommend you try the same.
I'm reasonably certain that there is video footage of the act somewhere, but if you all feel similarly about the matter as I do, it's probably better that 'somewhere' is where it stays.

Then eventually, much like the best high school parties that you don't remember, Hurl ate some butter;

and then some people got squished;

There was a ride planned for the following day, but Hurl was busy sticking a breakfast sausage in the Queen's navel, which ultimately opened the door for more hijinx.
Like, for example, helping him with yoga;

We're healthy people, with healthy habits, except for when I accidentally pushed him off the deck and he burned himself with his cigarette.

But like I was saying.. 'healthy habits'- Not alot unlike those that this guy probably routenly partakes in;

I would also like to note that the above clip is especially powerful if while you watch it you listen to Foreigner's 'Hot Blooded' at the same time.

While people the world over were recovering from the standard holiday tradition of overeating, overdrinking, and just generally over everything-ing, I made my way to The Bay Area to abuse my body a little more, and when you spend time with a motley crew such as the one below, that's not such a stretch.

Again, keep your eyes and ears peeled, because since this photo was taken, there is a good chance that these folks too will soon be starting a band.

And speaking of which, a few weeks ago I made mention of my favorite new music group, The Worship of Silence. The individual who's got the throat in the band is a whipper snapper named Joe, who upon my arrival to Oakland eagerly took delivery of a new Sanchez;

The transaction went smoothly, and the cops hardly even questioned us at all, then upon it's conclusion he slipped me a copy of their new disk, 'In The Early Hours', which is a fine, fine piece of work.

The world wide availability of the disk will be forthcoming, and you can bet that as soon as I know how each and all of you can get your grubby mits on one of your own, Ill blow it up all loud and proud-like here.

Another fit of fancy that I was notified about was the completion of Amigo number four's brand spanking new Blue Collar mountain bike;

As I previously mentioned, good things do happen to bad people, however there is no word yet about whether or not Robert included a roll of lead slugs in the seat tube, as is his habit when building bikes for his friends.
Or maybe that was just mine.

Anyway, the first person who can correctly guess where each of the letters for the down tube decal came from gets a swift kick in the pants for having the uncanny ability for being able to recall such things.

The mail bag got a bit wonky over the break, and with literally hundreds of emails to sort through, and no time or energy to do it, I had to pare them down to the very minimum, the first being from Grant;

"Stevil,

Thinking of redecorating your parlor for the new year? Birdweiser might be available. A true visionary always sports a pair of Budweiser pajama pants. You can check him out in all of his glory here.

Happy New Year-
Grant"

You know, that man has got a vision equal to a modern day Fred Sanford. I've got half a mind to help the brother out, and ship off our own collection for him to use;

Out of my own sheer generosity and willingness to help him realize his dream, I'll even throw in all of the fruit flys for free.

This next item was sent to me a few times, but the first of which was by none other than The Bike Snob himself.

It would appear as though, much like day to day operations in general, I have also been kept in the dark about this very cutting edge piece of fashion, the brand new Bike Snob, Swobo collabo.

We truly have arrived.

Now up in the promised land of the North, where the the fool hearted souls are still riding their 10 speeds in the dirt, there is yet a little more action for me to notify those in the region about;

Before I forget, I'd like to show off the gift that my friend and great, great grandson of San Francisco's first mayor, Harvey gave me for the holidays;

The note that was attached said simply 'Stevil, don't be a dickhead".
The view from this ivory tower is quite nice, thank you.

Now truthfully, while the view is nice, it's nowhere near totally, and utterly the best of the best.

Well, here we are, back at the grind with a whole new year before us. I think all that is left to do now is to include an email I got from Jim;

"Awesome. Simply awesome.

I hope you're having a great holiday season. In the past week I've killed 1.5 cases of beer, a fifth of Russell's Reserve, the better part of a handle of Beefeater, some unspecified amount of vermouth and olives, and... um... some other stuff. Not sure what exactly, basically whatever was handy. Oddly enough, I've not been hammered, just been comfortably buzzing along like a bee on a Dutch tulip farm. Now I know what it felt like to be Winston Churchill, except for the part about me not being a wealthy, aristocratic, beloved and brilliant world leader.

All the best,

Jim"

Jim might not be a wealthy, aristocratic, beloved and brilliant world leader, but he's ours, and that's good enough for me.

Until he actually becomes all of those things, and then each of those times I was nice to him is really going to pay off.

The avalanche is coming, so I'm gonna pull the plug on this installment and bid you all a fond farewell for now.

To paraphrase The Black Sheep-

"You simply put your foot forward in a direction. That's called a step, and then you follow with the next one."

-And remember, unless you're this guy, you're not guaranteed a tomorrow. Live it up when you can, while you can.

That's good advice.

Xs and Os,