I always have credited my buddy, Sheldon for his good taste in music. Then last night I find myself at the Rihanna concert. I heard that name before but I always thought it was a teenage Latino beached whale boy with a speech impediment. Tickets were as expensive as hell but we hopped into the coat pocket of some big guy and didn’t pay a dime.

All they served at the Riv was Bud Light. Sheldon and I sat on the floor with our mouths open waiting for drunk bastards to somehow spill out of their gawking mouths. After we got about ten or eleven drops, the music stopped and the crowd cleared. Someone or something scooped into me and Sheldon into its hand and I whipped around, ready for the fist fight of a lifetime. Instead I was patted on the top of my little gnome hat by a very nice looking human figure and handed something burning at one end and smelling like road kill. I didn’t really care what it was because this is who handed it to me:

Not a Teenage Latino Beached Whale Boy

These are the moments that remind me that there are new things to be learned every day and that not all teenage Latino beached whale boys are half bad.

Highly magnificent,

Pablo the Gnome