Un derniere mot…

Sitting here in a tiny apartment thousands of miles from the Hotbox, I stare at my computer screen as the photos of the year-gone-by fade in and out.  The hundreds of bowls, the occasional party, the endless laughter and incomparable companionship was more than I ever expected to find as I trudged up the stairs with my moving boxes just one year ago. While I figured that my friends were trustworthy enough to live with enjoyably, it’s always a bit of a gamble to put that many girls together in one living environment…feminism aside, I think we can all agree on at least that much. But much to my surprise and utter fascination, we went together like pickles and peanut butter-a little salty and a little sweet, we were the perfect mixture.

We had everything one could need: a compulsive eater, a couple of hippies, a midget, some vegans and loads and loads of weed. The hours of work or school would drag on as I anticipated my return to the comfort of my highway-side palace. Slouching in my stiff chair from the 1920’s, I would stare at the dusty classroom clock as I watched the minute hand closely and swear that I saw it go backwards….just to fucking spite me. It was all I could do to keep myself awake as the grey haired professor in front of me spewed his regurgitated knowledge of whatever useless and boring subject I happened to be studying at that moment. After 17 years of listening to the same advice of, “Do unto others as you wouldn’t want to have them do unto you”….or wait…”Never eat cheese before 5″….shit, I must have forgotten. Whatever, we all get the point. And after four years of college and the prospect that the world was really going to open up for me in the near future, that I would actually be able to stretch my legs and mind in the wide-open frontiers of uncharted and exotic lands like…France…I couldn’t wait to be out of that hole of a classroom and into the “real” world. You’ve heard of the real world, right? It was the one that I had only read about in books and seen pictures of in my mom’s National Geographic. But still, as excited and antzy as I was, my racing heart and twisted thoughts were always calmed by the thought of my eventual return to the house that I then called my own.

 The bell would finally ring, releasing the twenty, or 350, of us from the clutches of the clueless professor and I would secure my earbuds in place and walk in time to the groovy music, ready for a smoke and some relaxation at the house.  And I always knew I was in the home stretch as I would see the woman of unidentifiable ethnicity and suspected prostitution standing on the corner of 5th and 45th, holding a sign and staring at nothing in a blank daze. “Hey Bertha!” I would say in my head as I kept my eyes to the ground and rounded the corner, always making sure to keep a safe distance from her and her “pals.” I could almost feel the comfortable cushion of the Goodwill couches beneath my toosh  as I walked the last block toward home, the big tree and white columns sneaking into view. Climbing the few steps, reaching out and pressing down on the handle I would slam my shoulder into the door in anticipation.  Rubbing my arm and patting the side of my now bruised head I would repeat to myself, “Always check to see if it’s locked BEFORE you slam into it, jackass” ….every damn time. And I know that it’s been said in the one other note that I’ve written about the Hotbox, but a feeling of warmth and immediate ease envelopped me with my first step into the house. The smell of sweet, stinky weed and the occasional baked good would float through the bright living room, and the loud laughter of my roommates could be heard drifting down the stairs. I look to my left and Rumi is sitting excitedly on the couch, wagging her overgrown tail at the thought of someone new, and the kittens’ soft, padded feet could be heard thumping through the dining room or landing solidly from a 10-point leap off of the curtains. I was home.

And the same would go for work. I would drag my lifeless body to work every morning, a little high and a lot annoyed at the thought of what I was going to have to deal with that day. I would somehow make it through the seemingly endless hours of standing on my bowed legs, catering to people that I hated, listening to the depressing stories of my self-proclaimed ”awesome” coworkers as my crooked spine ached and my mind whirled into a complete mess. I didn’t like my job, I hated the people that I had to serve, and I dreaded most Thursdays when I went from “cook” to “waitress” and actually had to pretend like I gave a shit about the food and service that I was providing. But every time I dropped and shattered a plate, every time someone condescendingly called me “sweetheart,” every time that I was elbow-deep in the fryer, scrubbing away and thinking, “What the fuck am I doing here?” I was reminded of the six people whose faces would potentially greet me upon my return from that greasy Hell. My car parked and set for the night, I would walk the 50 feet along the side of the house, slipping occasionally on the ever-present mud and spying on whatever diver I could see. I would peer into our dining room window, hoping  that the light would be on and that someone would be there when I stepped into the living room. I didn’t care to talk about my day, I didn’t want to rehash the stories of the assholes that had appeared at my window or the new burn that now adorned my arm or leg, I just wanted to see their faces, and I was honestly comforted solely by their presence.

I don’t normally like to metaphorically bare myself, exposing the very feelings and emotions which make me tic, but I feel it’s important to finally lay it all out there and make one last point for the OG members to hear…so here goes, hopefully short and sweet.  

Just more than 10 years ago I was uprooted in the prime of my childhood and moved from Los Angeles, my heart and home, to the Northwest. I lost all of my friends, I lost my family that had lived two blocks away from me since I could remember, and I lost any sense that I had ever had of “home.”  Going from a city where I was basically the minority to a little town where everyone was white-bred, corn-fed and had known each other since their PARENTS were in diapers, was more than a little shocking. And while I did “adjust” and make friends here and there, even earning a title or two in high school (something I still don’t particularly understand), I never felt like I belonged there. They weren’t my type of people, it wasn’t my speed of life, and it just didn’t suit me. I searched long and tirelessly, I ached for someone to relate to, and I wished beyond all reasonable measure that the feeling of “home” would magically reinvade my body. But, try as I may, it just never did.

After finally finding that I had truly begun to settle into the Camas life, I once more had to say goodbye to all that I knew, and finally enjoyed, as I left for college. My freshman year, I thought I had found what I was looking for….was horribly disappointed…thought I found something close to it again later, and was even more disappointed. I hated Seattle and all that roamed its streets in the shitty grey weather. I once again hated Camas because I couldn’t return without finding someone else pregnant or sitting in the exact same position as when I last saw them . I hated school and I hated that I was allowing myself to be so unhappy. And at my ultimate low, and literal breaking point, I fell into something called “The Hotbox.” This may all sound cheezy, I’m sure. But it’s something that’s more true to me than I could ever really explain to you, and it’s something that I have never actually dared to reveal about myself to anyone before this, fearing a fracture in my reputation as the strong individual that I try to present myself as. And having been on a veritable self-exploration for the past couple of months I have finally been able to let a lot of things go that I had held onto for far too long. So here is my truth, here is all of me.

It was a magical combination living the seven of us in that box of a house. With Hannah, Brophy, Marie, Morgen, Meredith and Eli (and the unofficial-but-still-loved members Drew, Brandon and Tyler) I honestly felt at “home” for the first time in more years than I cared to count. Whatever had been missing for all of those years, was replaced. Whatever I had been searching so desperately for, I had found. I’ve never felt more accepted or understood, or that I was on such a level playing field with everyone else around me. I was comforted when I was upset or sad, I was looked-to for advice, I was truly listened to, I could say anything and know that I wasn’t being harshly judged, I was promised things and actually saw them come to fruition, I had love and companionship the likes of which I had never experienced before…the kind that I had dreamed I would find since the day our moving truck pulled away from my Grandmother’s house and I waved goodbye to my brother, and the life that I had loved so dearly. And as I drove away from the Hotbox that last day of August, my ears literally rang with the sound of my shattered heart. But this time I knew that it wasn’t a final goodbye, it was just a short break so we could all gather more awesome stories to share with one another….and that we would all remain as closely in the future as we were that year.

I don’t really need to say much more than that, and before sappiness begins to just drip from these words here, I’ll sign off and say my final goodbyes to the Hotbox that we all knew and loved. The Hotbox that we started; the legacy that will always remain. Thank you guys so much, from the depths of this little ol’ heart and sometimes awkward personality. Last year meant more to me than I will ever be able to lay down into words, and I will remember it always with the fondest of memories….however cloudy they may be. I love you all with the very fiber of my being, and think of no one but you with every cup of coffee I drink and bit of weed I smoke. I can’t wait to see you all again on the other side….and in another 5 years at the reunion in Amsterdam.

Keep looking sharp and breaking hearts as always my friends. Rock on.

-Brittany-

contact in granada

¡vale! i finally found out our address in granada… here it is. you can send some stuff to broph and me if you want.

Hannah Duke / Jessica Brophy
Calle Profesor Augustin Escribano Nu.5 1º A-2
18004 Granada, España

and one more time, my phone number is:
(country code 34) 654 98 66 31
and jess’s is:
(34) 654 98 73 87

¡vale!

we miss ‘em some divers

morgen and i were just sittin around stalking people on facebook when we came across a picture of our dear friend, sean lawrence. we haven’t seen him in a while, and we were pretty sure that nothing much could have changed. no major physical differences or body modifications, and i guess for the most part we were right. now, we’re not exactly sure what goes on and the changes that can happen to a young man if he spends too much time in rural canada, but now we’ve got a pretty good idea. beer drinking, pocket-exposed jean shorts, and cowboy hats. now we’ve seen it all. so we’d just like to say, DIVERS: we miss you, and we wish you were here with us… cut off daisy-dukes and all.

don’t forget, divers (sean, jake, peter)… hotbox etc. reunion 2012. be there or be an asshole.

“do you know who i am?”

last night was just plain crazy. i never did get a good look at the moon, but you would have guessed it was full. there was just something weird going on with the universe.

we started off our evening right. everybody bought a pitcher for only $3 at dantes. a good hour or two into it, some guy comes by our table to tell us about his comedy performance that would be going on across the street. turns out there was a $5 cover charge. drew was polite and just told him that he was busy with his pitcher and if it were free or he had more of a heads up, he would have been there. so this guy proceeds to tell us about all of the dates he will be performing and where – like we care. meanwhile, i’m drunk, and just flipping him as much shit as possible. if only i could remember the half of what i was saying, i was on a roll and feeling aggressive, but at least more than once i told him he wasn’t funny. he couldn’t keep up with me and for a comedian – what is that!?!

anyway, the night continued and i ran into him multiple times… outside smoking a cigg… on the dance floor all wild… and just up and down all around dantes. just a weird guy, but fun to spit shit at. now here’s where things get weird…

we left the bar at around 1am (give or take 15 minutes)… we walk through the door and a mere 20 seconds later this dude from the bar comes in and sits down. we’re like… oooook… what’s up man… i remember seeing cedar’s car pull up but not in a parking space. i wondered why she wasn’t parking, i would have thought she was going to hang out. but instead, she dropped this guy off. turns out, britt was talking to this guy and they happened to exchange names – not in a very ‘interested in each other’ type of way. apparently he asked, “do you know who I am, I’m Seth Wallen”.. and she pulls a, “do you know who I am”, he says, “theresa” and she says, “it’s brittany”. And that’s about the extent of it. she leaves to head home with us, and he walks up to cedar and i guess cedar asks if he’s britt’s friend. he must have said yes and she must have thought she was being polite giving him a ride to our house. little did she know what was really about to happen next…

so he sits there, then gets up, goes to our fridge, pulls out a beer, comes back to our living room and we watch as he tries to open this bottle of beer on our table. you know, hitting the cap off by angling it on the edge of the table. wtf. you never asked if you could have a beer. but ok. so then we pack a bowl and start passing it around. renee passes it to him and he fucken drops slimer. ok, it was my pipe, so i can throw that in there just to make a case but he was weird… and creepy.

the night continues and really, no words can really describe what went on next. the most that i remember is when ian was talking to john, this guy was sitting next to him repeating everything he said. like agreeing with him, or like they were talking, or mocking, or something as if he knew everything and was a part of the conversation. it was just weird. other times he would lay his head back and just make these weird noises with his mouth. he was just fucken weird. i’ll tell you, if he had a gun, i wouldn’t have been surprised if he shot us up by the end of the night. my shit spittin was not left at the bar, i kept it up at home… and mostly because he was a dick and creeped me out. at one point he stopped the banter and looked at me and was like, “ok, let’s get to the bottom of this… who do you think i am” and i said, “a comedian. you’re really funny” i’d been telling him he was really funny all night and, “oh yeah, right, you’re a comedian” because he really wasn’t funny. then he wanted to know who was gay in the group and kept telling us, “i’m seth wallen”. Um, ok, great man. it was just getting to be a wee bit ridiculous.

here’s the moment that topped the charts. i think i asked him what his story was and the story behind him getting to our house. he said, “i don’t know, some fat bitches dropped me off here” and that’s when i just stopped, looked at him dead in the face and said, “seth, i’m going to have to ask you to leave” he kind of chuckled like, “seriously” and we all looked at him like, “yeah, seriously dude” and britt and i told him it was late and we were all going to bed real soon. he just rolled over on our couch as if he was going to sleep right there and i said, “and you are not falling asleep on our couch, come on man…” and some silence proceeded… and i was like, “i’m really sorry man but you do have to go.” he sits up, and just kind of pouts and is all dazed and confused and can’t believe we’re telling him to leave… but he’s not leaving!! so i finally get up, open the front door and am just like, “come on seth, you have to go…” and finally he leaves and we are just like… “what the fuck”!?!?! this guy must have been cracked out on coke. he was wired, all over the place, pupils dilated, just a fucken crazy.

do you know who i am? fuck that guy.

phantom cleaners

so the hotbox hasnt been too crazy lately… no wild parties, no recent seducees, and a pretty consistant use of the usual recreational uppers (if ya know what i mean). anyways, yesterday something new, exciting, and frankly creepy happened here at the ole hox (thats my new nick-name for the house).

on monday evening i came home from work to find marie home alone and confused. she immediately pulled me into the downstairs bathroom, and then her bedroom and the kitchen, to show me the miraculous state of things. the bathroom, for the first time since we’ve lived here was absolutely spotless. i’m talking SPARKLING clean. the hair littered floor was scrubbed, along with the sink and tub. AND… and new roll of toilet paper (i didnt even think we had any) was folded into a nice little triangle.

as for marie’s bedroom… the trash was taken out, the floor swept, and her bed made with blankets that had previously been balled up on the floor. the kitchen was cleaned with obvious differences in the amount of countertop plaque that usually resides in the cracks of the tile. a new roll of paper towels (which im not sure we’ve ever used) was also folded into a nice little triangle like a hotel mini-bar.

the rest of the house was untouched. no other beds made. no floors swept. everything the same, except the things on the coffee table in the living room were lined up nicely and the bubbler was placed upside down on the table, leaving it to soak in a puddle of its own nasty bong spew… i mean, water.

after seeing all this, and checking with the other roommates that they had no hand in this cleaning, we figured (as anyone would) is must have been ghosts. right? i mean, britt was out of town, so we know she didnt clean up. and according to our landlord, he didnt send anyone over to the house to clean.

morgen was later informed by one of our neighbors that they saw at least two maids coming in and out of the house and were here for at least an hour. if you have any information about this cleanly break-in, or the whereabouts of these “maids” please contact us at 1-800-unsolved- mysteries (86765833-697837437).

want to live at the HOTBOX?

Hey everybody,
Marie, Jess, and Hannah [plus Urchin (kitty) and Rumi (pup)] are staying at the HOTBOX next year and need three new roomies and one fall sublet! If you are interested leave us a message here or call (marie) 253.592.3682, (jess) 253.820.8654, or (hannah) 317.640.3854.

Guys/girls and animals are welcome of all races, religions, sexual orientations, gender identities, and any other box you are willing or refusing to put yourself in.
You must be 420 friendly, be accepting of your own and other members’ sexual, intellectual and spiritual freedom and comfortable with members walking around half naked and/or peeing with the door open.
In short we are very open and loving people who know how to have a good time and live harmoniously.
We would also prefer tidy persons or those willing to do their part. We may be verging on hippies but we still enjoy cleanliness.

note – We are drama-free!
The HOTBOX is a utopia so if you enjoy cute little animals, beerpong and a bowl after school/work. Please apply!

Peace and Love,
the hotbox

***written by of Marie Sullivan

RIP, slater baby

excerpted from hannah’s blog:

its been a rough couple of weeks. my grandmother died and it was hard to deal with and accept… yesterday morning, i woke up in an uncontrollable emotional state and cried for no reason, started my period, and ate food all day. then, i really thought that things were looking up. its pride weekend in seattle and the girls and i were planning on going out to hit on some ladies (hehe). as i was finishing getting ready, grabbing my purse and jacket, slipping on my cute new shoes, brittany called from the bottom of the stairs that i needed to come downstairs. she said someone had come to the door and that there was a problem with slater, my little baby kitty. i walked out the front door and saw her lying on the sidewalk at the bottom of the stairs, motionless. tears filled my eyes and i dropped everything i was carrying and ran down to her. i immediately lost it. i knew right away that she was dead. her little body just lying there like she was sleeping, but i knew. i think i screamed. my knees buckled and my heart literally sank. i actually felt the physical sensation of my heart breaking as i looked down at her soft, kitty body. the girls that had come to the door passionately hugged me and told me how very sorry they were. those poor ladies, unable to know how devastated i would be, were the bearers of the tragic news that topped off a not so wonderful day/month. as they walked away and britt went to get eli, i dropped to the ground and cried like i havent cried in a long time. loud. angry. confused. i couldn’t understand what happened or why. i felt like a child who didn’t understand death or how instantly it can change everything. everyone came outside and we all cried, petting her. i wanted to hold her and kiss her and make her better. i picked her up and cried until her head was soaked by my tears. eli carried her inside, i just couldn’t do it. i called bookis and brandon, who rushed over, and we all sat with her, talking about how unique and amazing she was. jess, eli and i held her in our arms, crying and just wanting her to wake up. i held her one last time, looking at her unclosed eyes that had changed from a beautiful green to completely black, until the pads on her little paws started to get cold and her back legs began to stiffen. a placed her in a box that mere had lined with a blanket and closed the top, sealing it with my tears.

slater was more than just my kitten. she was a huge part of the hotbox family. my daughter. a sister. a friend. i really cannot describe the cat she had become. i’ve never known one like her. loving, kind of crazy, and the best cuddle buddy anyone could ask for. but now i don’t know what to do. what about urchin? she’s lost her sister, and she won’t let me cuddle her. everytime i tried to show slater to her she would run, and then sit at a distance and watch me holding her sister, crying. urchin’s going to be so lonely… and we are all going to miss slater so much.

we don’t know what happened to her. there was no blood, her body was fully in tact. upon further investigation, we found that she has a swollen mass in her belly, and her back claws were very short and completely frayed. we have our theories; a bike hit her, she fell from a tree and was unable to flip herself around, the fleas finally got to her (she was the only one we hadn’t had a chance to spray with the anti-flea stuff… damnit). we also worry (hope) that she will turn into a zombie kitty when the last petal of the rose that brandon brought me falls. i’d say its more than a possibility. but for now, we will bury her in the yard at the hotbox or at the honeybucket, and miss her more than you can know.

god, slater. i fucking love you so much. i wish you were here, sleeping on the pillow above my head or plopping down on my chest, leaving me just enough room to breath. i’d give up that breathing room to have you here with me now. i’m going to miss you so much… we all will.

mom.

happy fucking birthday, morgen!

Give Jah thanks

Here I go again.

So we say that.

Right here we are in this movement, again again again. Its like we live from here to here to here. What exists now. The past, the present? Nope. Just now. So I was reading a selection of the Tao te Ching selected and compiled by Timothy Leary. I know. I know.  But still, I like him. And it says live like this -

Grab Hold Tightly. Let go Lightly. The full cup can take no more. The candle burns down. The taught bow must be loosed. The razor edge cannot long endure. Nor this moment re-lived. So now… Grab hold tightly…Let go lightly…

That’s fucking amazing! I love it. I thought of this at first like vines. Swinging from rope to rope – when it is time, fully embrace what comes, each moment – love it – bring it into you. This means you have to let go of the previous one. But is doesn’t matter. Don’t think about that – think about now. Only now really exists. Here is all there is. Here/now is all there is to have and love. Of course your here and now can be quite large like college or marriage or whatever. What do you need to think about now? Over time things will come into needing to be – do it then. Just think man, think now. Or don’t. Just be. Whichever makes you happier.

Its so hard to figure out how to live life. No one has ever done it before now. We are rehearsing for a play that will never show. Everyone is an amateur, sure, old people sort of understand the younger life and insh’allah you do reach a higher plane of understanding, but ninety year-olds don’t know how to live in their nineties, and anyways everything changes – circumstance is never the same – so how are you supposed to compare them? You are ideally supposed to learn how to live “rightly” (though perhaps we should instead search for ”fully”) from history or religious tradition or parents. We all know how often that happens. We can only learn from the inside which is often as simple as accepting what has been presented.

I like to ponder metaphysical allegories, its all in the mind – which is the only thing we have really. Nature knows itself. Let us know ourselves.

Those who know, know its all inside our minds, not our brains but the “thing” that is us. Conciousness, the self, our souls, god, whatever you prefer to call it. Those are special little pieces because they are unsure. Flowers, dogs, weather, the body, it all knows what its doing, never doubts, has no pride or shame or judgement. We on the other hand, (humans – not our bodies but our minds/souls/conciousness/whatever. Its our resposibility. Jesus said “The Kingdom of God is within you” (Luke 17:20-21) That means “heaven” is here, now, because that is all that exists for us. It doesn’t matter if when we die there is no other place we are concious of. We hardly own ourselves anyway. 80 years out of trillions of years of existing matter – who knows how many before and to come? I am overjoyed at knowing that my small existence is actually a part of something huge and rolling.

Its like God was bored so he prepared in “his” infinite potential a banquet of edible puzzle pieces. ”He” then exploded into existence (aka the universe) flying in every which direction our existence exists (even where we will never explore). Bits of matter which combine and create all these brilliantly wonderful things like supernovas and love and fungus and seasons. Inside, the very being of all things are made up of elements - bits of god. All we are made of are bits of God! Like how we were once stardust. (google that shit). So everything is in all things. We are like miniature reflections of the universe – the one.  Together we complete the whole. Find your puzzle pieces – fit em’ in. I’ll try my hardest to find mine – you search for yours and in striving to complete ourselves we will add to the completion of the One – of Us! This One is what some people call humanity, others God. You can find it on the inside or the outside. Its both, actually. Everything. We are all role-playing guests at this incredible banquet of life. Take it in. Try it all.

Beautiful.

I really dig meta-physics. Isn’t that kinda strange? At least, I just recently realized how it has made my life happier – but when I was younger I only thought weirdos were into that kind of thing. I think its the name. Its like if you say you are religious you have to pretend that you believe in all sorts of stories and laws and rules that are forever and constant -

(when everyone knows our interactions are constructed and anything that is “wrong” or “evil” is just relatively so. Not to say that human beings aren’t capable of making choices that destroy what is beautiful)

Its not believing in anything. It just living. Rejoice in the existence. Just know. Come into knowing. Its hard to see the world from just two eyes. See from the inside. The One is us. We are it. Everyone, everything. all. nothing is hated because everything is us and its a little ridiculous to hate yourself – which is why a lot of people are unhappy. Like we say at the Hotbox – “Why don’t you just like it?”. I thought this was hilarious but then I just started using it to see if it works. And dude, its rad. Like with the kittens. (Sorry Hannah) They really used to piss me off – diving under my bed so when I left they could rip stuff up. So I yelled a lot. But then I said hey mijos, I’m just gonna like you. Now I have no yelling in my life. Less yelling=less anger=by default greater happiness=happier life. Try it. Not with something major you hate like alligators or rape. But something you don’t actually care that much about. I used to hate rude people. They would make me so fucking angry. But then I realized how ridiculous they look and its funny. and I laugh at them. More laughter=happier life.

Okay. This has gone on long enough. I apologize for the length. The herb removes me from these three cubic feet of bone and blood and meat. But I gotta return.

peace.

see also; village idiot

excerpted from hannah’s blog:

so there we were. four boxeteers shopping for the 80s party at our favorite little thirft store, the sandpoint value village. now, sure, you are bound to run into a couple of strange people everytime you visit a value village, but this guy was pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty weird.

as we were sifting through the rows and rows of shoulder-padded jackets and high-waisted cargo shorts, marie informed us that burton was willing to wear a ridiculous speedo if we found one for him. so of course morgen and i rush off to the male swimsuit section to take a look at the selection. on our way there, we were discussing the word “ish” and how only people in the midwest (specifically minnesota) can understand the significance of this word. [ex. "oh, ish! i'm not going to eat that!"] as we were passing the jeans isle, a 20 something guy says “did you guys say minnesota?” and proceeds to name drop a bunch of towns in minnesota and shit about the vikes and whatnot. okay we get it… you’re from minnesota. we laugh awkwardly and then the dynamic of our relationship with this guy took a strange turn. he immediately started talking to us like we were old, dear friends. “hey. do these jeans look good? do you think they are too expensive?” we were polite and gave him advice about the jeans but then he got exponentially weirder. he licked two fingers on his hand and wiped morgen’s face with them, as if he were getting a smudge off or something. a very intimate thing. morgen barely lets me touch her arm, let alone essentially spit on her face, and we’re more than just friends if you know what i mean. with morgen’s very visible, unapproving reaction to this, we quickly walked away, trying to hold in our laughs and freaked out shrieks of “what the hells” and other such phrases until he was out of earshot. and then we let it all out…

and the worst part is… we didn’t even find a speedo for burton. what a waste of a day, huh?