Because, we had a lot of Canadians amongst us this evening.

Let's just go with that; so many Canadians.  I don't know what to do with you guys, other than watch you swallow shots and talk shit and be fucking Canadian.  In other words, you're so awesome, and come back soon.

Seriously, Canadians (Crash Test Dummies are Canadian, so word).

Thiis evening, we had all the Very Good Quiz.  It was a Tuesday night I wish would never have ended, only it did, and now I'm at home.  So there.  My God Damn Piglets raped your ass this evening, and it was like joy.  Suckling no more, I suppose.  I'd put in a smiley face right here, but that would probably be inappropriate, what with all the rape, and all.

Until next week, wherein it'll be Bacon's duty (and this evening we had 3 kinds, as well you know), to sizzle that shit.  I am a monster, and I miss that Trouble, all asleep in your bed of tentacles.  Bring it in 7 days (7 days) for our Tueday's Finest.

Yes.

Tonight, chez Castle Blackbird.  Sort of as if we're all like, NORTH OF THE WALL, OMG, and you've TAKEN THE BLACK (so not racist, just quizzy).

I wrote that intro at Eric's house, totes drunk, and I still think it is hilarious.

Our Tuesday's Finest was in full effect last night, and like joy.  As far as content goes, our pointed edge was of the fairly jagged varietal; like a meaty dreamsicle of things trivial and bacon-y.  Caitlin (heretofore known as "Catelyn," because, things) and Pickett (who is just "Pickett") have decided that we are to enter a tourney of tips based on service (and hotness), which can only mean that the sheer number of hotpants on waitstaff at Blackbird is about to go through the mfing roof.  

Pick also has a sweet Misfits tat, but I was born at 1:38am, which makes me the bigger fan.  We can fight over it, though.  The winner gets a PBR, and a boiled leather jerkin.

A particular and oft-fabled squad rained holy hell and terror on your face last night, they of missed baseball games and caught foul balls.  I've missed you, ye Sandy Vaginas.  Check 'em next week, before their ship sails to wherever Vanessa got into school.  She's told me like, at least 3 times, but I keep forgetting.

Oh yes, next week.  I shall see you then, unless I don't, and find myself wishing that I had.  Like a nightmare world of stuff and things, or a zombie kiss on your clavicle. 

Tonight, holy crap.  One of those, "hey it's gonna be a nice quiet night downtown and stuff and things and my favorite bar," and then 20 teams.  

20.  Teams.  So rad, and so, so many of you.  I love my Tuesday's Finest, but it is so hard to love on all of you, when you are so numerous.  I fear my quiz suffered, as a result!  But alas, there are only so many minutes with which to favor such Very Good Quiz.

Admittedly, this is very flattering (for I am easily flattered), but I also realize that my quiz ends promptly at 9pm.  So it is difficult to tell how much you love me vs. how much you love getting home before 10pm.  I'm a fan, too.

Just love me, that's all I ask of you.

Round 6, which held some reservations (and some diire explanation on my part) was a rousing success, and was one of the coolest rounds we've had since that last one that you loved so much (I LOVED IT, TOO).  Pickett, Dudley loves your shoes.

Your crack house is a two-man tent!  And I archived your shit, today.  Be my pale shadow, on a hard drive somewhere.  Oh, my heart is beating, heart is beating hard.

I'l check you guys next week, wherein we'll be experiencing a veritable Quizmaster Exposition.  You'll know more of what I speak, next time, and whether or not we'll be dragging the oft-fabled Pio and Cerami out of their respective far-away states to quiz with and/ or for us.  

It'll be a something-something.