and you can tell everybody that this is your song

"you fucking weiner."

the vox, you know. this is when i am trying to pick up our milk jug to pour myself a glass of sweet cow juice to down some vitamins with, and find myself unable to life the jug at all. this is a direct result of picking too much fish, too fast and too soon. but i'll be damned if i don't secretly love it.

part of it is my new co-worker andy. and no, it's not what you're thinking.

today he rolled in around nine thirty, the same time as me, hungover from staying out till four am. my excuse was simply over sleeping and waking up to this amazing opera. andy's was that he and his buddy hit the big o dot s dot last night, and ended up up at smugglers. standing in the corner, surrounded by dead fish carcasses and looking greener than the fish bins outside, he starts telling tom and i about his evening.

"we went upstairs y'know?" insert insane laughing here. "there were..." his hand waves around, fish scales flying through the air "dancers. is that what you'd call them?" a sly grin breaks across his face as he begins to describe them. "that one girl, she had a nice..eeehm..." sidelong glance at me "..a nice bum. and small tits!"

all followed by gales of laughter, as he tells us that he's never been up that late before, and that his girlfriend-soon-to-be-fiance waited up the entire night for him. it's been so long since people played and laughed in there, that it seems almost crass and out of place somehow. until i remind myself that that's the way things are supposed to be.

things got even better when andy tells me that he'd like to listen to the moulin rouge soundtrack. and when he started singing- well!

it's worth a weiner hand to be surrounded by pure unadulterated joy once more.