You're going to have to deal with the fact...

That I am an alcoholic and a sonofabitch. I have had six long islands, one shot if tequila, and one sex on the beach (Brookes pick) tonight. Instead of cabbing it home, I decided to sober up with some water and some cigarettes here at the joint before I go home to finish the week, It'll be a bang, folks, lemme tell you. I am going to sleep until my hangover is gone, or until 2pm, whichever comes first. Then I am going to dress in the sexy clothes I wear for the club and the strippers. I am wearing black on black, pants an shirt, with a red silk tie that was ordered special for me by my boss lady/coolest woman ever who is manager of the club for tomorrow night. It will be a gas. I am even going to style my fucking hair for the occasion. You betcha. I'm the king of rock, ain't none higha; sucka mc's betta call me sigha! Alright, here's my challenge:(Yeah, yeah, I know "alright isn't a real fucking word, fuck off you grammar nazi's.) The challenge is, if you can tell me why John Fahey is such a fucking genious on the guitar, I will either marry you or give you a hundred bucks, depending upon the sex. I'll let you guess which one determines the benefits previously stated... I am really pulling for certain parties here, but I am open for suggestion. I realize this doesn't really ring true to what I am usually all about, but you have to realize that I am drunk and drawn towards this incosequential bullshit, and so a real reader as you are, I assume, would participate in such endeavors. Don't puss out on me, I dare you to reply!

-C