Should old acquaintance be forgot, I'll remind of the debauched antics. Merry Christmas to y'all.
A big, wet, sloppy one to Gentry for hosting Windy City Media Group's holiday party this year. Thanks to all the writers, photographers, delivery folks, business people, etc. who showed up. And if you stuck around late enough to catch Khris Francis, let's just say there's a reason I had five Martinis. Don't care what you say, Khris, I love my Skittles shirt.
Teri Yaki, your filthy mouth and your dirty pussy and two of my favorite holes ( as holes go ) . Thursday nights at Hydrate are always a treasure, what with you and the strippers. We were all left positively moist.
I admitted to Chuck Panozzo, Styx's bass player and outspoken AIDS activist, that Mr. Roboto was part of my formative musical education. I even had a little dance I used to do to it. OK, I was eight fucking years old. Who knew that some 23 years later, I'd meet him at the Eagle and share a beer. Domo arigato!
If you saw the piece in last week's issue about the Moscow Cats Theatre, you were no doubt intrigued. I took a friend this past Sunday to see it and we hadn't laughed that hard in years. My friend at one point commented, 'You can take the soup out of the cat, but you can't take the cat out of the soup.' Too true, too true.
Happy twenty years to Michelle and the whole crew at Big Chicks. When I write this same column in 2026, I'll be equally as pleased!