Wow. There are a lot of people here already. Why so early? The bar usually doesn't get jumping until about 10 when the local rodeo shows let out and the metaphorical lassos are visibly drawn from the legions of college guzzling fatlegs. This is unusual. I swear, there's something in the air tonight. Who invited Andy Warhol? Well, it sure looks like him, painting in the corner and singing "Love me 2 times" in a tone-def manner. Oh well, I have to get to the booth. 

Headphones check. Laptop check. Slipmats check. These mats are so smooth and sexy. I feel almost euphoric when I set them on the tables. They spin in such a flashy way, like wearing your belt buckle on your hip or tight jeans in below zero weather. Wait, how did this frog get in my record bag. There it goes, hopping on the stage and out the door. He didn't just wink at me, did he? Whatever, gotta focus. Start turntable. 

Look at settings on mixer. Good. Good. Good. Feel the slipmat. So much better than the Butter Rugs, which I loved for so long. They are thicker, but it's apples to bananas at this point. Apples to bananas? What? Why am I thinking about that? Why are there apples and bananas in the bar? Giant ones! Are these the healthy rivals of the Brewer's racing sausages? Are they visiting bars and harassing customers about how fat sausages and hot dogs can make people and that they should embrace fruits instead? Have these so-called "Fruit Swat Activists" ever been to a Brewer game? Well, if they haven't, I'll tell them that it's similar to ice fishing: FUCKING EXHILARATING. 

Back to the setup. These slipmats are pretty, reminding me of wormholes into Mariah Careyland and shuttles heading to the carnage of timeless 80's accessories. I feel like swimming right into this fantasy of heaven and hell mixed into one. My desire to leave this place and pass into my ex-mushroom addiction is close to becoming a fantastic reality. 

Wait. Wait. Hold up. Wait a minute! That's an awesome rhyme! 

Ok. Get it together, man. Gotta work. Ooooh I'm floating? This is neato-non-negotiable!

HEY BUDDY! HEY, STUPID ASS! 

Is that Stegosaurus talking to me? 

HEY! STOP STARING AT THOSE SLIPMATS AND PLAY SOME FUCKING MUSIC!

Oh. Ok. He WAS talking to me. 

Stop staring. Can't. 

I'm home? Odd.