Good Bye Derrald!

Tonight we bid adieu to one Duke Stice, bachelor extraordinaire. May the raw ribeye in your gut remind you of the way you encouraged us to live life Derrald, wild and to the bone. Who will keep us mindful of our penchant for destruction? Who will we watch strip down and fall face first into a frozen pond? Who will be there to stir the pot when the rice begins to stick to the bottom? Who can decipher my cryptic metaphors? Only you Derrald. Only you. Now you're off choreographing new routines with your fancy sling, feeding your lover noni out of a conch shell. And we wait in the shadow of the mountains, watching the clouds for signs of your rebirth. The winter fowl have flown and a new bird is breaking the horizon, coming home to Mr. Nose for a roost and a five-penny shave. Hold your hands to the sky and repeat after me Derrald, "I will never forget who my real friends are. Never." Now, go my friend, go walk softly in love's tender field, and claim it for yourself. You are the prize.

My eyes are burning.

I have been searching the net, the world wide web as some people call it, for bikes. Not just regular bikes. Sweety-sweet, pelvis-grinding, low-riding, cry-my-eyes-out bikes. I wish someone had told me such things existed. Some are made by Giant, some by Electra, some by Nirve. Some are definitely too cool for someone such as myself. I'm just not qualified to ride a bike with flames or skull handlebar grips. I'll leave that to the pros. But I could get into something, you know, comfortable. In fact, that's what some people are calling cruisers these days: "comfort bikes." Hooo-doggies! Makes me warm all over and especially near my bike-riding muscles. Comfortable bikes, with their velvet, their gold chains, huge bells, and ice cream cone holders. Of course, I only need one to get to school. Maybe I'll scratch the velvet and order a book trailer. But, should I go for the 5-book or 10-book model? Crap. Maybe I'll just get a backpack. But its got to have ice cream cone holders. And something flashy, like a side view mirror with an afro, so whenever I look at someone behind me it looks like they're sporting a huge, orange afro. That would be sweety-sweet.