"This is what I'm doing? I've flown across the country, blown the money and the carbon credits, to get wiggy in a bar in Mirvish Village? This is heavy. This is supposed to be a work trip! Where are the contacts? Where are the literary dinners and book store visits? What do these fucking lights want with my soul? I...need some air, I feel extremely unusual."
You will never, ever have a weekend like this one, so put down the Hunter Thompson novel, get a bottle of Wild Turkey, go dig your credit card out of the block of ice you've frozen it into, and buy this zine
. Read it, remember it. Easy.