Oh, and Trish had candy corn

We're about 20 miles outside of Salt Lake City. I just succeeded in roping us into our second car accident and draining every last dollar out of my checking account. My feet are covered in some disgusting rash which may or may not be poison ivy. My wee feets are covered in welts that ooze (that's right, I said it) and itch like all hell. Mike's feet are probably equally if not more putrid, his scabs are a lot bigger. We're at some cafe in Utah where there are a million kids who look like they're straight out of SLC punk, for real, and one of them was just talking about how his band is going to save the scene. I can't wait it's going to be fabulous.

I left the USB port for Ian's digital computer in Chicago, hopefully Gabby from the Pussy Pirates sent it to Montana so I can post pictures of our feet.

In the meantime, I am going to go roll a cigarette and burn myself with it.


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