The Editor's Mess

I'd be lying if I didn't say that March is my favorite month, which wouldn't really distinguish it from anything else I say. But it is, you'll have to take my word for that, and if you do then you really haven't been reading very much of IRREVERENT, slappy. Stop touching yourself in a priestly manner and exercise another muscle for a change. I love March.

If we have a muse around here, he's the Zeus kid who's totally obliterated and vomiting in public restrooms at Mardi Gras.I love it primarily because I get to get drunk like I do all the time but this time with a ready made excuse, a whole lot of company, and free cab rides. When else can I be drunkenly irresponsible and get whisked home for free? I mean without being fingerprinted? My point exactly: March is meant for drinking, largely because of St. Patrick's Day, a holiday named after an Irishman I suspect who really liked getting hammered and was some sort of Christian. I'd look this up but I'm having too much fun writing this with my good pal Mr. Jameson so I'll leave that exercise to the reader, like you really care.

March has further significance because drinking has largely supplied the inspiration for IRREVERENT. If we have a muse around here, he's the Zeus kid who's totally obliterated and vomiting in public restrooms at Mardi Gras. I mean, I started this rag while drunk, produce most of my stuff while drunk, and edit everyone's stuff hungover. In fact, I'm so close to actually Leaving Las Vegas that if I was reasonably assured that Elizabeth Shue would blow me, I'd load up the beemer with booze tomorrow and say sayonara to the great midwest. That's just how dedicated I am to my craft.

Take last month, for example. In fact, for all I know you did take last month, because I have no idea where I was during the bulk of it. I only know three things for certain: there is a woman in Juarez, Mexico that calls me two to three times a day wondering when I am "coming home," I am apparently a fully accredited phlebotomist in Romania and certain parts of Czechoslovakia, and I am light some $21,819 from savings. The rest is entirely a blur, although I do remember bits and pieces of a boat trip, way, way too much about empty tequila bottles, and certain dark rites involving blood worship, although I can't say that last memory is actually mine or something from a movie. Also, my cellphone has numbers on it in area codes I didn't know existed until recently. And if anyone knows how to convert Romanian Lei into American dollars, please email me because I'm sick of bank tellers laughing.

Anyway, my own philosophy of personal destruction aside, this month's IRREVERENT will more than make up for last month's MIA issue. Enjoy. And if anyone finds a wallet with my driver's license in it, pop it in the post, will you? As far as I can tell, I'll guarantee postage.