Top 10 Things You DO NOT DO at TomorrowWorld 2015

I got one word for you: SHAQ IS NOW AN ELECTRONIC TRAP DJ AND WILL BE PLAYING AT TOMORROWORLD. Jesus Christ. Who next? I’ll tell you who…..Willie Nelson.

We have t-minus 15 days till TomorrowWorld 2015 kicks off on September 25th. This glorious spectacle of electronic music and #PLUR (whatever that is) resides on some dude’s farm in “Chattahoochee Hills” which is slang for “The woods 45 minutes southwest of the airport”. I bet said farm dude listens to Willie Nelson and fishes for bass instead of dropping it. I could be wrong. Shaq is a DJ.

This beast is 3 days long and hosts around 150k people. And by people I mean the hottest chicks you have ever seen on earth in their mid 20’s wearing nothing but smiles, thongs and candy bracelets. Leave your girlfriend at home for this one Bros.

EZ2014, Doug Van Sant, DVS, electric zoo

This party draws people from around the world and was started by a couple of gents from Belgium. The original festival is called Tomorrowland which just celebrated its 10th anniversary last year in Belgium. If I weren’t dirt poor and 80 years old I would have been there half nude and fully vodka’d up bouncing with the Europeans.

A little about the festival: 3 days, 10 stages, every single DJ on the f*cking planet and 2000 times as many lasers as Stone Mountain. You do the math. Or don’t.

There are a few things you should do for this festival such as always have a fanny pack, drink water, carry a extra cell phone charger, french kiss foreigners and dance like a handicapped horse. However, there are some things you SHOULD NEVER DO at this festival. Here are the top 10 things you SHOULD NOT DO at TomorrowWorld:

  1. Don’t make a green shirt with “Let’s Do Meth” on it like I did at Hangout Festival.       trey meth
  2. Don’t wear a homemade Deadmau5 head. That shit is played out and terrible.  dead spider
  3. Don’t bring your epileptic friend. That bastard will lock up in 8 seconds once the sun goes down. God bless there are some lasers at this farmville festival. 20140926232109_kevin_3272_WM
  4. Don’t let a girl get on your shoulders. I don’t care how hot she is. That 104 lb Holland model will turn into a 400 lb meat troll after 15 seconds on your shoulders and NEVER want to get down.  f g shoulders
  5. Don’t get a TomorrowWorld Tattoo. Actually, scratch that. Please lord get one. Email it to me and you will win something I swear to God. TW Tattoo
  6. Don’t wear a morph suit you creepy rapist. That is by far the dumbest costume ever invented and generally worn by skinny methheads that want to look like a gigantic pair of pantyhose.People wearing morphsuits at Drayton Manor Park, Staffordshire, during a failed attempt to beat the current Guinness World Record for the most people wearing morphsuits. To beat the current record they would have needed a minimum of 250 people. PRESS ASSOCIATION Photo. Picture date: Saturday May 7, 2011. Photo credit should read: Rui Vieira/PA Wire
  7. Oh, and Don’t wear this either…1175756_10151854763574239_27613575_n
  8. Don’t eat a weed brownie at 2 am and tell your buddy to call the paramedics because you know for a fact, with 100% certainty, you are going to die.11717080_10207540336451761_642533284_n
  9. Don’t do vitamins you find on the groundgrounddrugbagthree
  10. Don’t do a sh*t ton of PCP infused homemade Bath Salts at 3 pm and wander to the MainStage to nap standing up. tw-naked 

There you have it geeks and freaks. If you have a better suggestion of what not to do at TomorrowWorld this year, feel free to comment below. Best one will win some TW swag and a lifetime supply of corn.


IG: furbustrey


Amazing Life Hacks That Are Amazing


By Trey Humphreys

Everyone is looking for a shortcut to a better life and more happiness. Well, lucky for you I have the answer: Drugs.

If Nancy Reagan scared you straight in ’85 and you think alcohol is goofy, then here are a few other life hacks that will improve your existence tremendously.

I was so inspired by James Altcher’s recent blog article about life hacks I decided to hack it and add some of my hacks. Now That’s What I Call Hacking, Volume 4. Remember hacky sacks? freaks.

  1. Carry dental floss sticks in the car within arms reach of the driver seat. Floss instead of texting your therapist in traffic.
  2. Whenever you lock eyes with a stranger, be the first to smile. It will change their life. Unless you are mutantly ugly then it might scare the piss out of them.
  3. Don’t do Adderall. It will burn holes in your soul.
  4. Try a psychedelic drug once in your life. It will be the greatest 5 hours of your life and you will meet God, laugh at nothing and get chased by trees. Good fun.
  5. Ask Siri what 0 + 0 equals.
  6. Exercise everyday. Fat people have smelly couches, snore and generally have mold in the shower.
  7. Shave a mohawk once in your life. This applies to female and males.
  8. Get a small iced coffee with light ice instead of a large iced coffee with normal ice and save $47 at Starbucks.
  9. Buy large dogs instead of small dogs. They don’t live as long and 98% of people are sick of taking care of their dogs by year 3.
  10. Never, I mean never, buy a parrot. Those bastards live 100 years, shit everywhere and are louder than most fire drills. God bless don’t buy a parrot.
  11. Sleep.
  12. Spend all your money on expensive sheets. You spend 50% of your life touching this material so make sure it is not that shitty cardboard sheeting you bought at the Dollar Store when you were a sophomore in college and looped up on 800 mg of Adderall. To focus of course…
  13. Eat a banana everyday.  That shit rules.
  14. Don’t eat a whole marijuana brownie at Coachella with 2 hippie chicks, a fashion designer and a divorced mother of zero when you are 40 years old and generally paranoid of people on the reg.
  15. If you are unsure if someone is too old/young to date, take their age and divide by 2. Add 70 and divide by 3 times your weight. Carry the 2. Multiply that by how many fingers I am holding up.
  16. Don’t masturbate in hot tubs.
  17. Try for a foursome instead of a threesome because there is always someone left out in a threesome.
  18. Don’t smoke cigarettes. That is some white trash shit right there.
  19. Poke everyone on Facebook. It confuses them.
  20. Whenever a waiter asks “how is everything” always reply “horrible” and smile. It takes them 14 seconds to process this.
  21. Leave the rebel flag out of your Tinder pics.
  22. Don’t ask Jeeves.

There you have it folks. The key to a happy life. Of course you can avoid all 22 of these life hacks if you just do crack cocaine everyday and sleep on a bare mattress under your dead grandparents house. Just saying. Oh, they are still alive? Wonderful.

For a much better article written by a much better writer, check out James Altucher 10 life hacks, habits and mega habits


IG: @furbustrey

Twitter: @furbustrey


Pinterest:  No idea what that shit is….

My 5 Day Text Marathon with a Spammer that Doesn’t End Pretty…

I write this with a broken heart. Last week, a man named “Tom” contacted a company I own asking to rent a bus. Poor Tom said that he is hearing impaired and would have to do the transaction over email and text. Because I like to give back to the community and have a soft heart for the handicap, I did everything I could to help Tom secure transportation for his beloved son’s birthday party. For some reason, Tom decided not to rent the vehicle from me and ended up being ugly to me.

It all began when my office received a quote request from Tom and replied with our vehicles and rates.

Tom then replied…

“Thanks for your respond,the favor i needed from you is to help me charge extra $1000  and also give you $100 extra  for your business tips on my credit card,the $1000 for the birthday planner add with the Car  fees payment , and you can help me send the $1000  to the birthday  planner. So that they can have the birthday  planing done to your place on that date because i want to use it as a surprise gift for my son on his birthday with the Car because i don’t have cash now with me and they also don’t have credit card facility they only accept cash payment for order,so you would help me send the money through Western union or Money Gram. And am asking for this favor  due to my Business trip and i will be very glad if you can handle everything for me that why am asking for the favor…..I will be expecting your reply back with your full name, address with direct cell phone numbers to locate your place, also let me know when you ready to charge my card, so that i will give you my card info. Thanks so muchTom”

Of course, I shot him my cell phone number and immediately got a text…. …GAME ON B*TCHES!
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I loved Tom but he broke my heart. It was the best five days of my life.
I encourage everyone that reads this to send Tom a text and ask him to be my friend again. You can also email himat If you do, please copy me!
P.S. Can’t wait to see everyone at Eats & Beats tonight! There are still a few tickets left (last chance to get em for $65 w/ promo code ASM). They will be $85 at the door. This event supports Children of Conservation and The Giving Kitchen. There will be bands-o-plenty including Yacht Rock Revue and some of the chef’s personal bands. 25 tastings from Atlanta’s best restaurants and plenty of open bars all night! GET TICKETS HERE

An Ode to Arnold and Hot Dogs

By Ema Cupcakehead tatt

SO…Furbus Trey has spoken and decided the people want to read what I have to write. Who I am? Good question. I’m a 20-something, unemployed (Who wants to take me to lunch?) female who did not match with Trey Humphreys on Tinder. Most of you probably know me as Cupcake, CC, Ema, Emaleigh Brooke, dirtysouthcupcake, the girl with the purple hair or Monk’s Corner, South Carolina’s reigning hot dog eating champion. I also share a vagina with the Mayor of Ponce. Sometimes.

Anywho. I was given some great direction for this piece, “Write LIT’RALLY anything,” Trey Humphreys (Who?). Why am I REALLY doing this? For a ticket and Fur Bus transport to Burning Man. Plus I YOLOed myself and said fuggit. I’m also on alcohol.

It’s now day five of requests from Tomx3 Humphreys for an award-winning article. I haven’t experienced this much pressure since the last time Plan B became Plan A. It’s Tuesday and, for fear of losing my chance at the big time, I beg my crippled boyfriend to take me to see the new Terminator. He declines due to a near-fatal bee sting. I offer crushed tobacco and crutches to no avail. I thought this critically-acclaimed film would inspire me to finish my piece on Arnold Schwarzenegger and hot dogs. Guess I’ll just have to wing it based off this 600+ page autobiography someone sent me.


If I could eat a hot dog while Arnold bench pressed me, I’d probably just barf. Game on. Arnold is the first person I’d invite to my round table (other guests include Guy Fieri, Chris Christie and DMX). I speak of a man who’s been crowned Mr. Universe 34 times and won 27 Academy Awards for his roles in films like Kindergarten Cop, Junior and Twins. He also starred in a few action films, but who even saw those?

Here are some fun facts about Arnold:

  1. His first job was as an ice cream man, at age 9. He learned, for a few shillings a day, he could maximize his ROI in a few short hours by selling to lake-goers in the hot Austrian summers. I’ve been to a lake in Austria. In August. It was freezing.
  2. He and his brother were forced to do sit ups every morning to earn their breakfast. To this day, I will not forgive my father for not making me do physical exercise to earn my Pedialytes. That’s why I have no will power. Thanks, DAD.
  3. Pumping Iron is the best documentary. Period. Arnold and Lou (Ferrigno) are lubed up pumping iron for exactly 85 minutes. They don’t have dad bods.
  4. The Jersey Shore’s “Situation” did not coin G/T/L. I have met said “Situation,” however. Long story. Don’t ask. Or do. We was up in da club when…
  5. Arnold’s been quoted saying he’d do everything over with or without the money. Muscles. Movies. Maria Shriver.
  6. Since he did get paid, he owns a 134 million dollar plane. The side reads, “S my D, Creflo Dollar.” Thank you, Color Spot for wrapping that bad boy.
  7. Confession: I still have to Google the spelling of SCHWARZENEGGER. Every time.
  8. He once convinced George Clooney he was drinking him under the table by way of peach schnapps shots. A true gentleman’s shot. Turns out, he paid off the bartender to give him water instead. Clooney, shit faced. Arnold, STILL laughing. Bartender, RICH AF.
  9. He became a Governor and fathered a love child (not mine).


Now you know a bit more about Arnie. I haven’t given up my dream of one day acquiring an Arnold-inspired tattoo. Part of me is against dedicating my body to another person. What are all the Bill Cosby tats being turned into? Skrillex.

What was the other topic I was supposed to write about? Oh yeah. HOT DOGS. I love them. Preferably from carts or ball parks. None of that snappy shit.


Thank you for making it to the end of this masterpiece. Please email complaints to

CC Cashing Out.

Real Life Hangover Cures



By Trey Humphreys

Let’s focus for a minute. If there is one thing I hate in this glorious world of ours, it’s a handicap inducing hangover. If you don’t drink or can drink in moderation like a real show off, then stop reading this and focus on your ROTH IRA. For the rest of you that like to party, keep reading….

I asked jeeves how to cure a hangover and found a smattering of terrible blogs with advice like “don’t drink ” and “drink a glass of water after every drink”. You bet. Let me whip up a spreadsheet to carry along for the evening and track the drink to water ratio while I crush a full liter of Fireball and 30 gallons of Bud Light, bottle.  Folks, I have drank Applebee’s out of white zin 4 times in my life. LITERALLY.

After the internet failed me (just like Tinder) I decided to do some real R&D. I asked my drunk friends what they do to cure a hangover. They sent me some horrible jokes and some interesting answers oddly enough….

10. Danny Maldonado (DJ Danny M) – Danny is a DJ and therefore is up in the club 14 nights a week. If you don’t know, EVERYONE wants to do shots with the DJ. EVERYONE is french for every annoying 23-year-old girl in the club who, god willing, must get into the DJ booth, request the worst song on the radio and spill her drink on anything electronic. Anyway, here is his go-to hangover cure:

Morning shag then Mexican pozole (green or red) then back to sleep. Next, ask what happened the night before and perform apology text messages. Cry alone until alcohol leaves system via tear ducts and finish with Mexican for dinner”

I have no idea what Pozole is but assume it’s similar to Peyote and motor oil. Also, can you substitute masturbation for shagging? Asking for a friend.

9. Ashley Hesseltine – Pro blogger, pro girlfriend (not mine you creeps) and pro vodka hoarder. When I asked for her hangover remedy she sent me her blog, of course. After reading that book I condensed it down to this:

“Drink 16 ounces of water with lemon, cup of coffee with coconut oil to kick start the system or force bowel movement, eat a banana, get in the ocean (or cool/cold water)”

Side Note: She once took me to New York City for a Vodka event where we made Cinnabon flavored whipped Vodka and orange Juice. Arguably the worst liquid I have ever consumed in all my 27 years on this earth.

For further details on her cure, read the full blog here: The 6-Step Program for Curing a Hangover

8. Tasha Mize – Bartender at 5 Paces Inn for the past 300 years. True redneck from the hills of Tennessee where moonshine goes down like moonshine. Her cure:

“BC Powder and Lemon Lime Gatorade or two jager bombs”.

Finally, a real answer of value sans jager bombs which taste like syrup and burnt cat hair.

7. Beau Rasnik – Another long term bartender from the flanks of Tin Lizzy’s and Kramer’s. This nerd is a runner and says the following:

“Take 2 electrolyte pills before bed”

Apparently you can buy said pills at a “running store”. Who TF goes to a “running store”. Dweebs. And runners I guess.

6. Isaac Stout – Tequila.

The Real World is a place where people “stop being polite, and start getting real”. Loser.

4. Derik Purdy – Derik owns 5 bars in Alabama (INNISFREE) and some claim he made the Florabama Mullet Toss the party it is today. I have never met a human being that can party as hard and as long as this fella.  Here is his go-to:

“The ocean, an adderall, steam room and pedialitye”

That sh*t actually sounds like it would work. It also sounds like the diet of an 8 year old kid at beach camp.

3. Dr. Bill Stephens – Bill is a son of New Orleans, completely nuts and somehow a real Doctor in Miami. He also got completely naked at the Lady Gaga concert at the Fox Theatre. He has two methods:

1) “Before leaving bar, ask for 1/2 cup of pickle juice. Drink the pickle juice with a shot of your choice. Drink a gatorade on way home”

2) “If you have a physician friend, get a banana bag which is an IV that includes: 1 liter normal saline/30 mg iv Toradol/4 mg Zofran/1000 mcg IV b12”

Is Lady Gaga still alive?

2. Jacob Blazer –  Jake plays in a band (Jacob and the Good People) and is sponsored by Jagermeister and liver failure. Forced to play and booze in all the haunts across the East Coast every week, he swears by the following:

“Goody’s powder pack, deuce deuce of beer and a pickle in a bag”  

Apparently you can get “A Pickle in a Bag” at the shittiest gas stations across the Southeast. Add boiled peanuts from the can and clove cigarettes and I’m in.

1. Jamie Shirah – Jamie owns The Ivy and also the greatest company ever invented in the history of mankind and womankind, Vida-flo: The Hydration Station. This is a place you can go to get a IV bag of goodies for around $40-$50 bucks instead of buying shitty health insurance in order to fake alcohol poisoning at Grady Hospital. The number 1 hangover cure sold up in that joint is:

The Blue Lagoon – $49.99 – Fluids, Vitamin C, B12, B-complex, Toradol (headache), Zofran (nausea) and oxygen”

You could win an iron man after that bag of fun. Plus you get to relax in a recliner the whole time while reevaluating your entire life. I’ll take 6 bags and a self help audio tape.

There you go wastoids. And yes I skipped over #5. If you have a better method, let me know or @asocialmess on Instagram. I don’t do Snapchat because I am fairly stupid.


My First French Kiss

Horrific. That about sums it up.

There comes a point in every man and woman’s life where you French Kiss for the first time. Unless you don’t. I guess.

My introduction to this world of romantic endeavor occurred in the 6th grade. However, my first kiss on the lips happened in 4th grade on a Church bus heading to a Church camp in St. Simons, GA. My God that girl was hot. She was a full-blown blond bombshell with an outrageous body. Sure she was bigger than I was at the time like every female on the Earth but a knock out none the less. I was on top of the world and kissing was WONDERFUL.

The trauma that unfolded in the sixth grade was not WONDERFUL. (Side note: use the word wonderful as much as possible because it is a fantastic word) I was dating a girl, whatever that means when you don’t have a car and not sure how your penis works, and had kissed her several times in the course of our courtship. However, I had always avoided the French Kiss because the thought of it scared the shit out of me. God forbid I mess it up, bite her tongue, get gingivitis, cancer, AIDS, gout, cavities, polio or a boner.

Then along came her birthday party. Great.

If you have ever been young, then you will understand how your peers encourage you to do everything. Any by peers I mean asshole friends. I believe Dr. Phil calls this peer pressure. Well guess what? There was a shit ton of that at this birthday party.

How do you practice French Kissing when you have never French Kissed? YOU CAN’T. That is the problem. Unless you have a forgiving dog or live on a farm I guess. Should have thought of that.

We were somewhere under her house, or beside it, or in it, or whatever I cant remember. There were several of my terrible friends shouting at me to kiss her. Like a boss, I kissed her. Over and over. On the lips. No tongue. Easy breezy. Everybody shut up. Where is the cake?

Then the same set of asshole friends starting chanting “with tongue”. And the nightmare begins.

The French Kiss – invented in France and known around the world as a kiss that involves the tongue going into and around the mouth of the partner. i.e., take one of the most vial parts of the human body and home to a quarter trillion bizarre bacteria and overproducing mucus glands and put your number one taste receptor, the tongue, inside of said space and wiggle it around. Thanks France.

After a hour of encouragement and on the brink of an anxiety attack, I was forced to engage in my first French Kiss.

I stuck my tongue in her mouth.

I cannot remember if I did the straight in and out jackhammer method or the helicopter round-a-bout method but confident it was one of the two. After what seemed to be 6 hours of kissing (8 seconds) I was done. Mission accomplished.

I had finally performed my first French kiss. BOOM! I WAS A MAN!

Then I got sick to my stomach, left the party early and went home and cried. I swear to God.



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Ticket Price Increase Next Tuesday. THANKS OBAMA.

We apologize, but are forced by the laws of nature to increase ticket prices next Tuesday due to higher than usual ticket sales. You see, math whizzes, we are only allowed to sell a certain amount of pre-sale tickets due to space constraints at Piedmont Park. Ergo, we cannot sell all the tickets at welfare levels ($13) forever or we don’t make money and God knows we love money. Jennifer wants to retire in a duplex one day and John John has his eyes on a Honda Civic lease. I’m focused on a used oriental rug next year. The only way to accomplish these milestones is to make money. The point is get your tickets while they are less expensive than most pet store fresh water fish.




  • live hamster
  • small burnt coffee at Starbucks
  • Half of a free range grass feed sustainable egg at whole foods
  • 38 pairs of socks on Buford Highway
  • a cute pink duster from Target
  • can of Four Loco
  • pair of shoe strings


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A Social Mess and its constituents (those don’t exist) are proud to announce LERPRE*CON 2015 at the Park Tavern on March 14th. Somehow, someway, this party has become our largest and wildest party of the year and we are not even Irish. Ish. There was that one time we racked up 42 shots of Jameson before 9 pm in Little 5 Points which literally brought Tom to tears but let’s put that aside for now. With an average attendance hovering around 4000 people and two full stages, LEPRE*CON has got to be the best-valued ticket on earth. Hell, the damn things start around $10. This year’s entertainment line up is starting to take form with DJ EU, DJ MADFLIP, DJ DK, Jacob & The Good People and more announced soon. The spring break stage is back with ridiculous contests and general buffoonery. As always, there are a few surprises up our sleeves for you green geeks. Take a look at last year’s video if you have never been WATCH THIS VIDEO FOLKS!

We can’t wait to start partying with you folks at 2 pm on March 14th!

LERPRE*CON Leprechauns.

The Scariest Christmas of My Life

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house…

Scratch that.

It was Christmas morning and MY WORLD CAME CRASHING DOWN.

Let me preface this disaster with some background info. You see, long ago about third grade, Mom and I were living in an unluxurious 2-bedroom brick house with the approximate value of a current day Ford Taurus. There were only two human beings living in that house and it was me and moms. There was no dad and I had no brothers or sisters. Living the dream. Oh, and a half dozen imaginary friends who thought I was bad ass.

It was Christmas morning, 1982. I woke up at 6 am on the dot like most annoying children on Christmas, eager to explore all my gifts from the almighty Santa Claus. I screamed at mom to get her lazy ass out of bed. IT WAS TIME TO DO THIS. Poor woman. #yolo.


BOOM! I exploded into the living room and…WTF? Yes, there was a tree. And yes, there were milk and cookies. UNEATEN. But no, not a single present. Explain that universe. I mean, Mom didn’t have much money buy my God, how much does a toy cost? Six bucks? Nothing.

Now, let me put this into perspective. I was a young child and up to this point, firm believer in the Christian ideology of an obese elderly man granting gifts through the help of northern reindeer. Sure, he had the same handwriting as mom and somehow serviced around 4 billion people in one night when it took McDonalds 58 years to serve the same number of hamburgers. However, my buddy Ace just bought a 3D printer that apparently can print cars and create free energy so whatever. Stuff happens.

There was no question in my mind that Santa Claus existed because that bastard had been giving me presents my whole life. Until now. Service Merchandise could have their catalog back. I was pissed.

At this moment, I did what all grieving young men would do, cried like a sorority girl after a gallon of vodka and a positive pregnancy test. Mom hugged me, which did nothing for my emotional breakdown, and guided me into the next room where we settled onto our inexpensive couch. What happened next, well, defies logic and put me in therapy for most of my adult life.

As we sat and cried on what I can only remember as a horrid floral print couch, a walking cane came in through the hallway door. A wooden f*cking walking cane. Said cane tapped the hallway door and all the lights in the house went off. I shit you not. Like David Blaine and Jesus Christ had teamed up to magically remove all electricity from my whole house with the touch of a walking stick. I mean even Steven Hawking can’t explain the physics on a walking cane shutting down the entire electrical system of a single-family home. Or half-family home I guess.

“Oh no, looks like Santa might be here” said Mom.

No lady, we are getting robbed and sure to be tied up in some basement for the next 30 years until Anderson Cooper and Lisa Ling dig us out on CNN. Sure, I was a young child but per my earlier statement, there were only two people that lived in that house. And now some kidnapping axe murder/magician just blew out all the lights and is in the next room. My life was over. This I knew for sure.

A few minutes later, as I shivered on the couch praying to every God I had ever been taught, Mom finally said, “should we go in the living room and see if Santa came?”.


There is a cane-welding child murderer in the damn house and you want me to go into the next room? Am I not your biological child? Can you not afford me anymore? Have you always hated me? Who has their own child murdered on Christmas?

“No thanks”, I replied, through a hurricane of tears and hyperventilation.

She finally dragged me into the living room where, God only knows how, Santa had come in, set up all my toys (including a full train set), ate the cookies and milk and somehow exited the house in complete and utter silence. Then the lights magically came back on. Straight poltergeist.

Let me gently remind you of the size of our house. I would say it was approximately the size of 6 refrigerator boxes. This man, Santa, had built an entire room of toys on the other side of the cheapest wall ever created in a low-income house WITHOUT MAKING A SINGLE SOUND. In less than 4 minutes. And escaped, thank God.

To this day, my Mom will not tell me how all of this unfolded or who, if not Santa, was the caned magician/murderer that built 25 toys in less than 4 minutes in a room 6 feet from us. My guess was it was my dad, but he was a complete drunk and had been disappointing me since he left us when I was 3. Must have been Santa.

Also, what Santa comes after 6 am on Christmas?

Merry Christmas folks and please, for the love of God, sleep ‘til at least 7 am.


A Magical Night with Susan Boyle

A Magical Night with Susan Boyle 

By Trey Humphreys

To my recollection, I only saw two music shows this past year. Just two. One was the TomorrowWorld Electronic Music Festival with over 300 DJ’s and a billion dollars in lasers, pyro, glow sticks and speakers. The other was Susan Boyle at the Atlanta Symphony place in Midtown. I swear to God.

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Ol girl played here in Atlanta about a month ago, which happened to land on the exact day I was having a few beers, conveniently. It was a Sunday afternoon and I was winning a pumpkin-carving contest at a local watering hole when it hit me like a ton of woman…..


I remembered the Susan Boyle concert was that night in Atlanta. How did I know this wonderfall of information? Because of a fantastic phone call with my Aunt Betty whom I had not spoken with in 25 some odd years. The phone call conversation included: 30 dogs, a house fire, Curves, Asperger’s disease and the Susan Boyle Fan Club. However, that is another story for another time.

Fast Forward to the pumpkin contest…

Deep into the carving, I dialed up the only other human being dumb cool enough to go to the concert with me, Melanie. Thankfully, she owns a delightful sequins dress and one of the most fantastic middle-age-woman wigs on earth. A real gem of a hair piece.

With the pumpkin contest under my belt, I headed home to grab my white tuxedo (with tails).   I assumed that is what most folks wear to a Susan Boyle concert. I was wrong.

We got all dolled up and Ubered down the show. We got dropped off at a restaurant called TAP where we ordered two grilled cheese sandwiches and two dirty martinis. Chicken soup for the soul.

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As I was consuming vodka and eating a cheese sandwich, an elderly woman in a fantastic half-sequins sweater asked if I was Lance.   I assumed she was lost and thought I was her grandson. That or she was the oldest prostitute on earth trying to find her date. Things were looking up…

Post awkward conversation with the old woman, we strolled down to the show and entered the lobby area, which was filled with wheelchairs and Medicare. It felt like I was riding a white horse into the bingo section of a yarn convention.   We got some stares.


We hit the box office and made our way to the cheap seats, which were somewhere around 1200 feet above the stage with limited oxygen. It was a miracle the elderly could mange their way up that high with out the aid of sherpas or cranes.


The Curtains unfolded and BOOM! There she was. Except she was a he. And then he sang. LANCE. Whoever that is, sang two songs. He was the opening act and not the 90-year-old prostitute’s date or grandson. Life comes full circle. What?

Side note: Lance, full of spray tan and amazing hair, was the opening act for Susan Boyle. Let that sink in for a moment. That man tours with Susan Boyle.

And then, like a Build-A- Angel from Heaven, she appeared. The crowd exploded. I scanned the audience for heart attacks. She wore a sleeping gown with flowing feathers on the shoulders and a beaming smile. I think. I was pretty drunk and 80,000 feet above the stage.

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With the voice of a Scottish angel and the stage presence of a dead plant, she opened with Somewhere over the Rainbow and then Winner Takes All by ABBA. She moved her right arm up and down which was the extent of her choreography. There was no dancing, or moving for that matter. She stood, sang, sat, sang, repeat. Literally.

The guy in front of me played backgammon on his phone.

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She even sang the Sarah McLaughlin animal cruelty song.   If only the dogs could hear her. Or cats I guess. Cats. What a disaster of an animal. Nevermind.

While half the audience watched her and the other half watched us, we decided to dip out after 10 unbearable songs. I wanted to find her, or get a picture with her, or kiss her on the lips but never got my chance.

Until next time Suzzy, until next time.

Photo Oct 26, 8 48 04 PM



Lance’s best friend