And I will write you a song and it will be called A Picture Of Me Screaming At The Top Of My Lungs.

One thing that is going on here is that I am incredibly tired.

This weekend was mostly about driving. And then there would be a stop at a convenience store to obtain some gasoline. And then more driving. Then more gasoline. Driving. Gasoline. Vrroom. Wssshh (sound of gasoline going through the little hose and into my car). At one point, there were actually children. That part was nice. Then more driving. And gasoline. I have pictures that I might consider posting tonight. In some of the pictures the children were riding such as Shetland ponies at a sort of street fair down along things.

Another thing that happened that is AWESOME (!!!) is that my long, lost friend Joseph has returned from a state that has asked to remain anonymous. He is home now and oh, how verily do we rejoice at his relocation to our proximity. The fact that good Sir Joseph has returned is incomprehensibly awesome for the following reasons:

• Joe is the missing link in my band hopefulness. His return also ushers in a Resurrection of Rock, wherein we make screechy guitar noises and slide our picks all over like frigging Jiminy Christmas. We will have all of the most awesome experimental rock in our repertoire, including one song where the mighty Jo-sef speaks the names of several different aquarian animals and ways in which he would like to see them cooked, and another masterpiece wherein the guitar solo is played using only one of those rubber mallets with which the doctor hits your knee for no good reason (reflexes blah blah). In another song we will record the sound of our various joints popping and this will be played in the background along with the sounds of our voices saying words like "shelf" and "mustard" at a very high pitch. This is the beginning of an era of Rock which will span several decades of us making strange noises into audio receiving devices. I cannot. WAIT!!!
• Joseph and I share a passion for writing of all kinds, be it lyrical, prose, screenplay, grafitti, inkblot, random scribbling, etc. What this means is that our book is going to be awesome and hated by everyone except us. Send us nine American dollars to preorder your copy of "Marty's 25%-off Dunce Cap Emporium and the Scourge of the Peruvian Homeowners (or Why America Is Like A Big Dead Whale With A Deformed Blowhole And Also Some Heart Disease)."
• Joe is a funny guy.

Ladies, Joe is currently single and if you would like to solicit sexual acts from him you may call him at the following number: 1-800-I-AM-JUST-KIDDING-LIKE-I-WOULD-REALLY-POST-HIS-PHONE-NUMBER-ON-THE-INTERNET-WHERE-JUST-ANYONE-COULD-SEE-IT-AND-TRACK-HIM-DOWN-AND-STAB-HIS-FACE-OFF

I'm sure Joseph will inform me if I've left out anything of import.