WELCOME TO JULY

Happy Orgiastic Dionysian Bacchanalia of Patriotism and Nationality Weekend!

Friday's ripped thru town in his convertible packed with girls which might nicely be described as "pin-up worthy." We all knew he was on his way, but somehow seeing him in the flesh shoots electricity into the proceedings. He's wearing shorts and a white T-shirt that has "Commander and Chef" stenciled on it, and before he's made the grill, he's donned an apron that says, "BEER IS THE SHIT!"

People move out of his way, as he takes over the grilling. But off to the side, Lady Liberty catches his eye, and gives him a wink. She, like usual, looks like a goddess. She reclines on a divan in the gazebo, and gives him a couple more flutters from her luxurious eyelashes. Then she pulls the samite away from her legs, and gives him a glimpse. Friday hands the spatula to a bystander and rushes to the nubile Lady Liberty. He throws aside his apron, revealing his, *ahem* hot-dog, which he quickly thrusts into her. Her moans attract the attention of those bar-b-que-ers who haven't already noticed the spectacle. Somehow a beer is now in his hands, and he drinks it sloppily, spilling it over his face, over his chest, and over Lady Liberty - who is too busy being ravaged to mind.

"Goodness," says a woman too properly attired for a bar-b-que, takes a hit off a big blunt, and passes it to a nearby surfer, "An unholy union between Friday and Lady Liberty? What will the inhuman offspring look like?"
The surfer (wearing a ratty shirt that reads, I survived Beach Party '98) says, "Fuckin' Sweet, that's what." And proceeds to bogart the joint.

Happy Friday