Ladies and gentlemen, Greg Groups.

Ray Harada, once again the smart fellow in the world,

proof cast takes to be ether from the salubriest confrines of western Hollywood's most awesome

bar, bar and limit across the street from the pleasure chest here in Trans-Genduary.

It can be the most painful month to transition, it can also be the most glorious to strike

a blow for freedom.

The pleasure chest pitches and yaws across the street, tippling its booty at us at all

times here as once again.

We convene in hope for a magic to happen, and this glorious winter night on a bitter cold

night here in Hollywood, it must be 64 degrees out there.

I was in Cleveland last week, and it was below fucking Arctic, and yeah, there was a dead

pen one when I walked out of my room.

I had to break through ice to breathe at one point.

It was cold, and then it was raining, and so there was a kind of a cold, horrible rainy,

sort of endless rains of antitim, sort of waiting for the world series to begin, hideousness

of flushing the universe of all of its toxins down those brown-ass, Cleveland icy streets,

and then it snowed, so it was really the triple header of the book of revelations.

It was so cold when I got there that it hurt your head when you walked outside, and then

the rain made it extra special, yucky, and then it snowed the last day, and I almost cried

in fear.

I'm from Cali, and when we rally and when thing and the thing and Pasadena, where you

know that, and I'm not used to snow everywhere, so I get up on the last morning and I'm checking

...