So there I was, wrestling a bear… I mean beer, when all of a sudden 2 men came from behind me and said they were there to repossess some Pearl jam cassettes I supposedly had hidden in my jacket. They told me they ha da band and needed a manager. I suggested Glenn Povey but they said they’d already tried him; he was now working for Pink Floyd. I apologized and bought both blokes a pint of Speckled hen.

it was at that very moment 3 lovely Chicas Calientes from Spain walked into this very dark British pub and ordered tostadas. 3 tostadas each. that’s 9, for you folks counting at home. i found it all odd and asked them why they were there and how in the heck do you get tostadas in spain. they later explained that you could imagine anything and it would come tru because everything was a dream. me. you. this diary. ed’s site. even the tostadas.

i didn’t belive them because the tostads smelled real fresh and i had a few mosquitoe bites, like when i was down in Baja.

the girls were hot at the car wash we went to after we left that jip joint brit pub and i gave my car a good washing, as i was picking the wife up from LAX. she was in texas for a few days and i’m sure she was dying to get home.

i drove to LAX to get my wife and then after that we went to some bar on main street and then we hit the liquid kitty on pico. and then we got a bit at Gilbert’s (on Pico) and then stopped off at another Brit pub, the Daily Pint. The DP is on Pico and 23rd street in santa monica.

we had some drinks, played some pool and then my lovely wife told me she loved me. i told her i loved her more than anything in the world. i thought long and hard about how good a gal i had. those spain chicks were no match for my woman. with that, i laughed and chugged my Dos Esequis….

Mike Randle