why do crappy things happen to people made from the finest stuff on earth?

M.A., Brad's former roommate from freshman and sophomore year, and fellow theatre member who was fond of Nuthouses, was mugged this weekend. He was biking home from work, I think, and some punks threw a bike at him to knock him off. They punched him up good, and stole his money and bike. The next biker that came by was a cop-on-bike, luckily. But all that was recovered was M's bike. The punks got away. Fuckers. Now M. has a broken collar bone and can't do much moving. Brad and I are going to treat him to a Simpson's night this week. If anyone is local and wants to join us, let us know. If anyone wants his e-mail, also let us know.