Your boss can take his micro-managing bad breath and endless stupid ideas that are a road to nowhere and stick it under his half-priced toupee. With your check in hand and the entire weekend to jam out, liberation has come. Floating down the highway your car just seems to find the liquor store (how does this keep happening?), and you skip down the aisle looking for the tasty suds that will wet your whistle. Continue reading “A Blast of Nuclear Metal”
The Metal Alchemy 