Milwaukee's Summerfest, Day Two

Today is a good day. I found a technical college half a mile from my hotel that's actually stupid enough to let people login to their library computers without a password. Good thing, too, because Tuesday's column cost me $8.60 at Kinko's.

In other news, I have to give a big thanks to reader Nikki Simmer, who requested and received 20 free dailyramblings.com stickers from me, and proceeded to plaster them all over the women's restrooms at Maplewood Mall. Sound fun? Of course it does! The rest of you can join in the fun, too. Just click here and I'll send you daily ramblings stickers, free of charge.

It's nice to know that I've now infiltrated women's restrooms. Remember ladies: when you think of peeing, think of Paul.

I even disgust myself sometimes. Let's move on to Summerfest.

I had an interesting conversation in the elevator at 12:30 a.m. A man who I didn’t catch the name of told me an interesting story.

“Man, what are you, 23?,” asked the random weirdo. “Man, back when I was 23, you could get it on with girls with no strings attached. Now, things are different. Now you have to buy them dinner and take them to the movies and all that sh*t.”

Boy, I sure hate it when I have to take a girl to the movies before I engage in twisted, kinky sex with her. What a horrible thought. In all honesty, though, the Milk Duds alone would probably send me into bankruptcy. But that’s another story.

Last night there was also a guy who's wife was dancing on top of a picnic table, with a bunch of old guys in biker jackets grabbing at her. I asked him if he minded having 20 losers trying to strip his girlfriend, and he said, “I don’t care, I’m Polish!”

It was quite possibly the most random comment I have heard in my entire life. But hey, let’s get on to the bands.

Andrew W.K. was spectacular, but since he only has one album out, he only had enough songs for about an hour-long show. Otherwise, it was a good old-fashioned rawk and roll show.

"But what about Jewel?" you ask, anxiously.

Oh my God! Jewel’s playing?!? Oh, save me a seat!

Pardon my sarcasm, but I decided to leave before the first song even started. I assumed that her whining only took place in her songs, and possibly when people hit her in the head with frisbees, but apparently not. Before she started playing, she began campaigning to the crowd about how we should petition radio to play her new single.

Am I the first to say that if you’re a pop princess, and your new song isn’t on the radio, then maybe you should just write some better f***ing songs? Sure, I'd love to call up my local radio station and ask them if they’d be willing to play shittier music than they already are. Screw the frisbees, let’s just start chucking rocks.

I’m surprised that “shittier” made it past the spell-checker on Word. What a wonderful program it is, catering to my every profanity spellchecking need. What about the word “poon”? No. Word has no place in its heart for “poon”. “Poontang” doesn’t work, either. Oh well, can’t have everything.

Want to know what else happened at Summerfest? I was accosted by a girl named Angela, who wanted to have a sip of my beer. Then she asked for another. Then another. Then another. Being that she was hot, I broke down and bought her a beer. Later, she gave me her phone number and the address of her website. Here's a picture I stole off her site, just so you sarcastic bastards can't joke that I'm spending my trip hanging out with fat whales:

Speaking of pictures, here's the picture I promised of the view outside my hotel window.

Want to see a picture of the view out my other window? Your wish is my command.

I know. You're all insanely jealous. Anyway, it's time for me to go. I've wasted your lives for long enough today.

Tomorrow: Gilbert Gottfried, Gilbert Gottfried, Gilbert Gottfried. You couldn't possibly ask for anything more.