One more glorious moment in Maine, with one helluva mullet, also named Dave. Dave's mullet was a glorious-looking brown waterfall; he was like a white-trash statue. I miss that guy. By the way, what Dave is holding is a squirt-gun. Can you guess where the water came out?

Here we are in other friend Rob's uncle's basement, drunk off our frickin' keesters, whining about how there's never any women around, listening to King Diamond, swilling Rock, sticking crap on our heads and taking pictures. I don't remember this night too well, but I can make some pretty accurate guesses.


copyright 2000 David C. Lovelace