JHole Chill…

‘second star to the right,

straight on ’til morning.’

The New Rules for the J-Hole Bachelor.

Rule #10 – Rufio got stabbed. In the heart. And died.

Rule #11 – Poppin’ Cristal never gets old.

Rule #12 – Toast your friends: they had to put up with your shit, too.


I really love the fact that so many people that have been in Jackson for an extended amount of time refer to it as ‘Never-Neverland.’ I don’t know that it’s the growing up part, or the lack of motivation and stamina for professional and cultural development that breeds this Peter Pan syndrome. Like how the library is a popular place, when you are looking for somewhere to check your Yahoo! mail (who the fuck uses Yahoo! mail anyway…). It’s more or less a willingness to digress that makes Jackson a little more different. In most cases, some lightbulb clicks on and you say, ‘man, I got to start partying so hard,’ and you do. Then you move to Jackson, you become friends with Cutter and the bartenders at Koshu. They play music, they pour drinks, you recruit friends and before you know it, you are a regular fucking Rufio.

It’s cool though, everyone digresses. This place is like a quarter-life crisis with a redbull-vodka chaser. The only problem is, if you don’t stop drinking, you don’t get a hangover.

Eric is leaving. His pixie-dust ran out. His buddies toasted him last night with Cristal and Tequila. Gangster. Age demographic went from 22 to 45, at least. Met a red bird and a blonde bird. No complaints.

Bayou Benefit Bash tonight at Cafe Genevieve. I don’t think Wyoming will know what to do with Hurricanes. Beignets? easier to fuck up than you think. RE: White Buffalo Club.



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