OUR CLAIM: “No one knows ‘Busy’ like the DDC knows ‘Busy’.” -DDC

When we get “busy” around here, man, we get “busy.” In fact, getting caught up in the flurry of activity can lead to some very unsavory results.

THE FIERY EXCHANGE: Late last night, well past the midnight hour-as happy Portlanders dreamt of rain and roses-Jeff Baker just couldn’t take it anymore and looked over and said, “Are you wearing the same orange boxers from when I arrived? I’ve been ‘seeing orange’ the whole time I’ve been here.”

THE CULPRIT: I looked down. Orange boxers. He had arrived on Friday. It was Sunday night.

THE NERVE: Not only does he gather all the ugliness up for the magazine, but, he can also find time to grill his ‘Director of Art’ about boxer short time limits. Busybody.

THE SAD TRUTH: I think I had gone a couple days at the most. I mean, who’s got time for things like meals, house chores and showers when you are faced with this shit? Not me, obviously.

THE PUBLIC RETORT: Jeff, you twinkle-toed, little hoodrat: This project is war. It ain’t pretty. The house is a wreck. Gary’s got a funk going that is downright “un-Animal Kingdom.” And yes, these are the same boxers I’ve been wearing since, uh, October. Deal with it.

WHAT’S REALLY AT HAND: Where’s my photos? Where’s my copy? What page number is this page? Quit worrying about my mouse-finger sores and focus on the magazine.

THE HOSE-DOWN: Late last night, somewhere around 6am, the water hit the skin and a hearty wash of Lava was scrubbed all over, with extra attention to the mouse finger and undercarriage.

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Capozzi, Coulter, Nelson and about eight other Nixon folks showed up late last night. They were on their way down from Hood, after a long day of shredding. Good to see all the faces. Sorry about the mess and sorry about my sad life. Next time, I’m charging admission.