round two

Man, this rain can suck it. I can handle global warming. But this global drenching crap? It's for the birds.

It's June 26th for crying out loud. How about a little sun, New York? Leave the depressing gray skies to the experts...like Glasgow.

Anyway, we gave the Hamptons one more try last weekend (the Hamptons are on the way out to Montauk, the scene of the Great Escape), with a work friend of Crissy's, and his girlfriend.

Ooh, mister and missus fancy pants, jetting out to the Hamptons to sip sea breezes and rub elbows with the Kennedy's, eh? Not exactly.

The only thing that makes the Hamptons fancy, aside from the billion dollar houses, are all the Prada and John Varvatos-type stores that line the main drag. Otherwise, it's just like any little sleepy getaway town in Wisconsin or Michigan or whatever. And thankfully it remained gray and cloudy pretty much the whole time we were there, lest we get any funny ideas about having a good time.

Actually, that's not true. The sucko weather aside, we really did have a good time. Crissy prepared an outstanding Mexican feast, to accompany the 500 shots of tequila being served up by Mike, our host, while Franny tried to eat a small lapdog named Gracie for 8 straight hours. I woke up the next morning to a screaming headache with the sickly, pounding throb of a German techno beat.

Oh, and about those pictures. That's a little something we spotted on the way to dinner last night. What you're looking at is a massive load of horseshit. And his name is Dick Cheney.