MY NAME IS CHIP. WEIRD SHIT JUST SORTA HAPPENS TO ME. THIS IS A SOME OF THAT SHIT.
Smells, Policy and I went to an Irish bar here in Chicago last weekend. We cozied up to a table next to the window, had a few beers and threw back more than a few shots of Tuaca. After about at least four hours of “blades and bows” and “learn and do,” Policy asked “Is something burning?”
I went to a friend’s wedding a few years ago on the east coast. Pretty standard wedding, with nothing epic to report from the reception itself. However, the phone call I got a few days after the wedding was fairly noteworthy.
At work the day after Lollapalooza, I accidentally popped a huge zit in the middle of my back by leaning against the back of my chair It must have been from the steroids? I didn’t realize I did it so I had blood all over the back of my white shirt.
After spring break, senior year at Dayton, Spice came back to school from New York and brought with him some big ass Italian sub from a deli in NYC. We went to the bar and he did not stop yapping about this fucking sub. “It’s the best sub in the city…. I grew up on these subs… My Dad went to this place when he was a kid… I can’t wait to go home tonight and eat that sandwich….” As he said this, I looked at Felix’s face and knew that Spice was never seeing one bite of that sandwich.
The food in Japan is just not what you would expect. It is nothing like Benihana of Tokyo or your local sushi place, I promise. The texture is off and the food is treated with different chemicals that affect our round eye stomachs differently. That and about 15 bottles of sake gave me an extreme case of geri.
October 18, 2011
Chip
chipwrecks 