=(

Well, I’m back from Fargo, my old stomping grounds. I was there attending to some family business. It turns out my grandfather, who recently passed away, left me over 7 million dollars - but there’s a catch. The inheritance is conditioned on me using the money to find the jade scorpion. You see during WWII my old man’s old man was a jazzman in a Parisian nightclub called The Elitist. During that time he had lots of exciting adventures with female lounge singers, Nazis, cheetahs etc., but nothing was so precious or valuable to him as the jade scorpion given to him by his old friend Boris Yelstin who was in town to playing a gig with his acid free jazz all tuba quartet, Tubaphonica. My grandpa treasured that jade scorpion and if it wasn’t for his uncontrollable addictions to gambling, vodka margaritas and California rolls, he would have been buried with it last week. You see he lost the jade scorpion while betting on how many California rolls he could fit in his mouth while drinking a pitcher of vodka maragaritas. He predicted he could fit 7, but it turns out he fit in 9. Some say he should have stopped at 7 but my family ain’t quitters or half-ass doers. So he lost the bet and the jade scorpion to a Parisian nazi sympathizer named Jean Picard; who gave it as a gift to the beautiful countess Anika Rovamon in an attempt to gain her favor. It didn’t work, and she left Paris shortly after. So I’ve been given the task to find the priceless family heirloom at any cost. So far I’ve spent the money on night vision goggles, a new car, six personal assistants and one of those handheld tape recorders.

All in all then it was a typical long weekend. But there were a few things that stick out in my brain. For one, the bars in Fargo are 10 times dirtier than any bar I’ve ever been in before (this includes the bar in Caruthersville Missouri where you threw your empty Keystone Lights on the floor and there was a 3 foot long phallus laying on the pool table.) I ordered a Jameson Irish Whiskey at a place called Shot-n-Punched that was served in a rusty tuna fish can with an skewered olive. I would have drank it anyway except for the fact that I had to arm wrestle the bartender in order to “earn it.” I lost and had to watch her throw down the smelly liquid right in front of me. She then threw her cigarette in my eyes and told me to go wait for her in the storage room which turned out to be an outhouse. I don’t know what I would have done if Heather hadn’t stumbled upon me while looking for more free shots of Rum and bought me from the bartender for half a pack of Virginia Slims and a meat pie thinking I was Pete Yorn. I tried to explain the situation but she just kept telling me to shut up and buy her Alabhama Slammers with my ‘rockstar money.’