Happy Halloween, sluts! Time to get out your slutty outfits and slut it the F up. Once again, I'm going trick-or-treating as "A Horny Little Devil with His Tits Hanging Out and Also His Balls Are Out." It's just some good clean Halloween fun, you slutty whorey sluts, you!

You sluts are going to have to go without a journal for a few days, as I will be basking in a tropical (storm) paradise for the nuptuals of Vinny and the soon-to-be Mrs. Shit on the Face. If the sun does manage to eek out at all during the weekend (not predicted), I'll be sure to protect my pink baby-soft skin from the awful UV rays that set my Irish flesh on fire. And no, I don't want to borrow your sun block. It's not nearly strong enough. SPF 60, my ass. I wear an SPF t-shirt.

Any good costumes this year? This morning, Madden saw a Starbucks employee dressed as a Dunkin Donuts employee.

Some housecleaning business to take care of now that we're allowed to sleep at night without 4 hour baseball games:

- Apparently, news of our hiatus gets top billing over at the Boston Herald. It's official: our own Nate Diggity has replaced Morrissey as our culture's most prominent mopey sideburned asexual.

- Scamper's latest (and likely final) studio efforts are now available for you on iTunes, under the heading of "The Skylines EP." Is it too early for nostalgia?

- Speaking of defunct Boston power pop outfits, Fooled by April guitarist Joe Welsh - philanthropist or misanthrope? The debate continues. In gratitude for his powerful sperm and facial hair growing abilities, Joe has set up a new charity: Beards for Babies. Open your hearts and your wallets to this kind man with an awful awful beard.

I just realized that last Friday's big announcement was actually the 666th post on this site. Devil horns.

Thank you all so much for your comments, phone calls, and emails about the Scamper hiatus. We're all very touched and moved by your kind words. Don't worry - there will be many more opportunities to tell us how much you love/lust us in the weeks to come. We're going to milk our farewell a million times worse than Kiss. By the time we're done whoring it up, you're going to be thinking, "Why again did I like these douchebags?"

But today is not for mourning. Today is for celebration. Yaaaaay Red Sox! A few comments:

- The pitcher batting is wicked gay. Enough. It's like watching white girls dance to soul music.

- Alex Rodriguez's agent Scott Boras chose the middle of Game 4 of the World Series to announce his agent's contract status. What a dick move. It almost makes me not want to spend whatever it takes to get ARod on the team. (I'm just kidding. They should break the bank and nab him. AND they should move him back to shortstop and keep Lowell at third. And get a time machine and bring back Pedro from '99). But still - dick move.

- I have never met anyone who doesn't hate Tim McCarver's commentary. There doesn't even seem to be a debate about this. How is he consistently calling the World Series? Can someone point me to a single positive thing anyone's ever said about the guy?

- Yay Patriots, too.

Now it's time to catch up on sleep for a few days and then head to the Dominican for Vinny Shit on the Face's wedding. Poor me.

As you may have noticed, Scamper does not have any shows scheduled for... ever. What I'm about to tell you is your classic "one big piece of bad news, three smaller pieces of good news" situation. You may want to sit down for this one...

Big bad news: Scamper is going on an indefinite hiatus. Keith's lifestyle as the Eastern Seaboard's most prominent door-to-door sausage salesman has made it impossible for him to continue rocking with us. So as much as we all love to hit that stage and entertain you, we're unfortunately going to have to order a round of banana martinis, pull up stakes, and call it a band.

Small good news #1: You haven't seen the last of Scamper. We are currently making plans for one big gala with our favorite local rockers for you all to come out and celebrate the glory that is the four of us. Our lawyers are still negotiating venues, co-stars, and nudity clauses, but we're tentatively pencilling the big goodbye show for some time in early 2008.

Small good news #2: I'm going solo, bitches! Before you even knew what hit you, the Brendan Boogie Band is coming at you like so much kung fu in your fucking face! I've got a MySpace page and everything. Go over there use friend as a verb to add me. The first show is Tuesday Dec. 11 at the the Bulfinch Yacht Club with the Rationales. Please come out and support me in my new project, or at least try to outnumber the rabid WWE fans that will be attending the Smackdown taping at the Garden that night. Although come to think of it - this might be the perfect opportunity to debut the song I wrote about Rey Mysterio Jr.

Small good news #3: I'm not the only one going solo. Nate will be starting HIS own band as well, although his busy astronaut training schedule has slowed the process him down a bit. However, once he masters the difficult "zero G sideburn-growing" maneuver, you'll be hearing big things from his new musical outfit as well.

So there you have it, folks. We're all sad and excited and nervous and grateful and a million other emotions that we'll be surely sorting out as the Scamper hiatus plays out. For now, there won't be any major changes to the website (I'll still be doing dick jokes) and we will update you with news as we get it.

Sorry for the late entry. I got sidetracked by an alligator wrestling convention.

Stay tuned for a big announcement tomorrow. Chew on that.

Unlike the mighty surging Red Sox, Scamper's competitive efforts were stopped short in just the first round of the Boston Herald Rock the Hub tournament. We were soundly trounced by the Sterns, making the dream "Scamper vs. New Kids" battle an impossibility. A single tear is running down the cheeks of teeny boppers everywhere.

It's truly a sad day when you lose in a contest you didn't even enter. It's sort of like the old Mitch Hedberg joke about opening a soda bottle and seeing "Sorry, Try Again" on the bottle cap. "I didn't even know I was playing."

On the upside, our tragic loss in this contest did bring about an upside - a rare public statement from Scamper's reclusive frontman Keith Michel:

"I want to thank everyone who voted for us, and say that I am just happy to a part of something this special."

Can't you just smell the sincerity, folks?

This weekend, I joined my compadres in French Lick for the 2nd annual Year Up Carnaval fundraiser. Last year, we played with Shaggy. This year, we shared the stage with the kick-ass Ozomatli. Some highlights:

- Returning from the deep woods of Rochester for the show, Joe Welsh was sporting some rather overwhelming facial hair. This was not a beard to be trifled with. A friend actually said to him in all honesty "You look like Brian Wilson when he went schizo." Surprisingly enough, it wasn't taken as a compliment.

- Speaking Joe getting angry, Pete "12-Gauge" Galea nailed him but good. During dinner, we discovered we had an investment advisor named John seated at our table. While Joe was outside smoking/making out with Jordan, Pete came up with a brilliant evil plan for some shenanigans.

When Joe came back, we started a casual conversation about stock advice during which John "coincidentally" shit all over Joe's entire investment portfolio. Slowly, Joe's face dropped lower and lower as he imagined his wife and unborn son living in a cardboard box due to his inept financial planning. It was funny.

(Hey, one of these days, we should probably let Joe know we were kidding, huh?)

- Since 12-Gauge is French Lick's erstwhile bass player, I was on background vocals/percussion duty. In my world, this means one thing: tambourine injuries. Whenever I get on tambourine, I do more damage to my body than an NFL lineman on heroin. I end up with blisters and bruises all over my hands and right thigh (as I am not afraid to shake it Susan Dey-style). The tambourine - not just for fruitypantses anymore.

- Speaking of fruitypants, here was 12-Gauge's carnaval-themed outfit for the evening:

I don't know if this photograph really captures the majesty or tightness of Pete's pants. At one point, I was trying to have a conversation with him about something unrelated and had to stop and say, "I'm sorry, Pete... I just can't seem to stop staring at your cock." Don't get me wrong - I didn't want to stare at Pete's cock. It was just right there. Pete's cock.

Thanks so much to the Year Up people for having us (and Pete's cock) for their fantastic event. We look forward to bringing our particular brand of Pete's cock to the event next year.

Whoooo hooo! On to the World Series, bitches!

It's lucky for J.D. Drew that he's finally coming up big in the playoffs. He didn't want to feel the emotional sting brought about by my latest t-shirt idea:

"J.D. Drewchebag"

Sox are rolling against a super-hot Colorado Rockies team. As much as the Rockies have been the underdog story about which everyone's been so excited, I don't think they have the depth to overcome the home field advantage-wielding Sox. Sox in 6.

But this wasn't just a baseball weekend, kiddies. No, there were all sorts of shenanigans. Tomorrow, I'll hit you with stories of boozed-up pirates, atrocious beards, tambourine-related injuries, and uncomfortably tight silver manpants.

I was feeling a little under the weather yesterday (no strep, thank Buddha), but I'm back in action for this evening. Which is good news because there's some serious happenings this evening.

Early in the evening, my good friend Andy Cambria will be fingerpicking behind the spritely Jenee Halstead at the Lizard Lounge on Mass Ave at around 8:30 or so. Then, we move on to Nate's 24th (ha!) birthday bash at the Abbey Lounge with some of my favorite Boston bands: Aloud (gay), Harris (gay), Baker (bi), and the World's Greatest Sinners (into some weird stuff you don't want to even get into).

That's the thing about me. I'm a little bit country and a little bit rock and roll. I go both ways. Like Baker. (They're all bisexual.)

Tired of watching baseball on TV? Yeah, me too. The good news is that longtime Scamper buddy Will Dailey is making his national television debut on CSI:NY tonight on CBS.

Actually, I think he was on The Early Show this morning, performing his song "Rise" which was technically his national television debut. But his performance on CSI:NY will be his "National Debut on a Show Which Prominently Features Semen Found on Dead Prostitutes." And if anyone knows how to detect semen on a dead prostitute, it's our boy Will.

I hear Will may even have a line or two in the show tonight. Congrats, buddy. Give us another six months or so before we show up at your door to bask in your idolatry.

In other news, a co-worker is out sick this week with strep throat, causing some obvious concern for not only her health, but (let's be honest - more importantly) the chances of infection for the rest of us. One colleague of mine actually said, "I really can't get strep throat. I have to go to Maine for a family event this weekend. It's a bad time."

This kind of statement always makes me laugh. Is there ever a good time to get strep throat? Does anyone think to themselves, "You know - I could totally handle some strep this weekend."

Yay observational humor!

Ha ha - those silly Indian fans. Lulling them into a false sense of security was all part of the plan. We've got them exactly where we want them! Muah ha HA!

In other Sox-related news, Hogg and I were so excited about the "Not a Big Gagne Fan" t-shirt, we decided to brainstorm and come up with a few other ideas, several of which we're sure will soon be emblazoned across the sweatshop-produced cotton garments sold on the corner of Brookline and Yawkey Way:

- "Manny Delcarmen... He's Not Bad. I Mean... They Still Lost Last Night, But At Least He Enabled Them To Do It With Some Dignity"

- "Oil Can Boyd Makes Me Reflect on the Questionable Decisions of My Own Life"

- "Lugo My Ugo" (This one would feature a picture of Julio Lugo eating breakfast).

Any other ideas?

Yup. Really not a big Gagne fan. Still, I'll consider that a fluke and go with the Sox in seven.

In other sports news, I was watching the Patriots game in Madden's lavish new living room yesterday afternoon when it dawned on me: if I were to become impregnated with Tom Brady's baby, I would definitely name it Tom Braby. Way to drop the ball, Moynihan.

Yay team sports!

Yay baseball!

I'm excited that the playoffs start tonight, but I've come to a realization: life comes first. Like most people, I made plans for my mid-October before any of this baseball playoff nonsense invaded my life. Unlike in 2004, I refuse to drop everything and put my life on hold because the Red Sox are in the playoffs.

It's only baseball, right?

It's only baseball.

Go Sox.

Damn it, I think I'm maturing.

This weekend, I unexpectedly sat in (on guitar, no less) for a hot rock show with French Lick, "Boston's Premier Classic Rock Cover Band Featuring a Major Sports Team Owner on Drums." During a rousing version of the Talking Heads' take on "Take Me to the River," the bridge descended into about fifteen glorious seconds of complete amusical chaos. After recovering just in time to finish the chorus strong, I thought of a perfect line for between-song banter: "Man, I haven't seen a bridge collapse that bad since Minneapolis."

But here's the thing: I didn't say it. Weird, huh? Maybe your boy is finally growing up.

However, there was another factor involved: our regular drummer Wyc wasn't at the show. Wyc hates my between-song banter. So maybe secretly, down deep in places I don't like to talk about at cocktail parties, I just say offensive things on mic to annoy Wyc. Thus, his absence made such behavior unnecessary and my antisocial urges were absent.

Hey, I guess I'm not so mature after all. Just really fucked up and passive aggressive. Ahhhhh. I feel so much better now.

This weekend, a few of us Scamps attended the CD release party of one of our favorite bands Baker. It was a rocking good time, including our own Mike Mirabella sitting in on drums while Nate and I tried in vain to steal his one moment of glory by jumping around the stage like monkeys. It's no wonder why Mike despises us.

One exciting little piece of news I learned after the show: the drummer for Baker is an actual baker. He works at a bakery. But that's NOT why they named the band Baker. It's a complete and utter coincidence. I could not be more thrilled by this development.

When Conan (dreamy front man of Baker) told me this information, I did a "hilarious" drunken riff on how every band should be contractually obligated to actually live their name, i.e. the Killers should actually murder people blah blah blah.

Which leads me to the announcement of my new side project: The Consequence-Free Blowjob Receivers. Coming soon to an airport bathroom near you! Tap three times if you love me, Senators.

Apparently, we're in another contest against our will. We keep trying to avoid these things, but damn it, people want to see us kick the asses of other bands.

This time, we're in the Boston Herald's 2007 Rock the Hub tournament to determine the best song to come out of Boston in the last kajillion years. Apparently, "Barcelona" has taken the world by storm and was popped in there unbeknownst to us. It's honestly getting a little annoying to be this beloved.

So if you feel like voting, we're the third bracket down against the Sterns' "This Will Only Hurt for a Minute." Just select us, make up a fake name and email address and bada bing - we move on to the second round to face either New Kids on the Block or... New Kids on the Block. And be honest with yourselves: that's a horrific battle that you guys have been itching for for a looooong time.

So, in the words of Diddy's apathetic younger brother Piddly: "Vote or Don't." We're thinking of having t-shirts made.

The following is an instant messenger conversation I had last night with an Unidentified Perverted Friend (UPF) who was apparently surfing internet porn whilst chatting with me, a creepy visual I am still trying to scrub from my memory cortex:

UPF: Man, I hate voyeur amateur porn.
Me: Oh, don't say that. Not after all it's given you.
UPF: This guy posts pictures of his fat, gross wife and writes "Check out my hot sexy wife on vacation last year." While I'll have to take his word on the "vacation" part, the "hot" and "sexy" claim is flat out wrong. The guy needs his glasses prescription upped.
Me: Imagine the part you had issue with was the vacation piece?
UPF: Ha!
Me: "You call that a vacation? That looks like a 'weekend getaway' at BEST!"
UPF: "Apparently, you and I have very different ideas of what constitutes a vacation. I say good day, sir!"

Have a nice long holiday weekend and try to check out the Baker CD release show at TT the Bear's tonight. Go Sox and blah blah blah.

Ten four, good buddies. Brendo's got a big ol' convoy, trucking cross the USA! Convoooooooooooy!

Despite my excitement over the Sox win and Josh "AL Cy Young" Beckett's absolutely dominant performance over the Angels last night, I saw a slightly negative Sox fan t-shirt that I absolutely loved. Now, I'm not one for overt hatred on a t-shirt ("Jeter Sucks A-Rod," etc.) even though I must admit that I momentarily considered sporting a "Clemens is a Bag of Shit" shirt, just because of its bold simplicity.

But yesterday, a guy walked by me in perhaps my favorite Sox-related shirt ever. It was blue with that old timey Red Sox writing reading simply:

"Not A Big Gagne Fan"

Classic. Understated and elegant. Before I could ask the man where he procured such a fine garment, my hot dog was ready and thus fate forced us to part ways. I did a quick search of the internet and came up nada, so see what you can do, my little cyber Nancy Doo Doos.

I promise you this and mark my words: someday, I will get married in that t-shirt.

Get this - I'm going to actually miss the first Red Sox playoff game tonight. I have an appointment to get my toenails martinized and I absolutely cannot reschedule it. Boo-urns.

You know what I'm NOT going to miss? Tonight's big TT the Bear's show of your new favorite band The Rationales featuring the ubertalented man (with the uberdouchebag little brother) Dave Mirabella. Catch them now before... they play another show... during which you can probably catch them again, I would imagine.

In other news, I finally caught up with the Rock of Love finale. I picked Jess to win from day one, so once again I'm the best. And Heather's 80's hair during the last ceremony was the greatest thing on television since the moon landing.

That is all.

For those of you that didn't read the paper or see the skywriting, Keith's and Alena's little boy Jason celebrated his third birthday last week. As his Uncle Boogie, I only have his best interests at heart. I felt that it was time for him to know about Spider-Man.

As I headed to the toy aisle looking for a cool but appropriately durable Spider-Man action figure, I encountered perhaps the most exciting news to happen in my world since Mike Mirabella's herpes test came back negative. Spider-Man and Mr. Potato Head have officially joined forces to become... Spider Spud:

What's more, it says right there on the box: "With Peter Parker Parts!" I love alliteration on toy boxes!

This marriage of two toy classics is the most scintillating development in crossover since I ordered that special William "The Refrigerator" Perry GI Joe figure. They didn't have them in stores. You had to call a number and get a code and mail in six cardboard coupons. (For the record, I believe the code was "STI" as in "Special Training Instructor" which was apparently the Fridge's job in the GI Joeniverse. Why an elite government fighting force would hire a 400 lb. sack of crap to physically train them is beyond me. And yes, I remembered the code without looking it up on the internet).

Upon further research, Mr. Potato Head has also joined forces with the Star Wars franchise to create Darth Tater and Transformers to give us Optimash Prime. (Which Madden owns, by the way. And he's not 3. He's in his mid- 30's.)

It's a brave new world, my friends. What I wouldn't give to be 8 again.

Okay, so let's take a look at my MLB playoff picks from back on March 30. We'll start with the American League:

AL Central: Cleveland Indians. If I keep picking them, one of these years they're going to make me look smart.

CORRECT!

AL West: Oakland Athletics. They are the kings of the late August/September run and they just won't stop making the playoffs. I won't pick against them until proven otherwise.

WRONG! I have officially been proven otherwise. Real winners: Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim.

AL East: Boston Red Sox. J.D. Drew has made me a believer!

CORRECT! And look who the hottest bat going into the playoffs is. Ah, Mr. J... D... Drew!

AL Wild Card: New York Yankees. Even when they suck, they're still pretty fucking good.

CORRECT! That's three for four in the AL. I'm the greatest of all time!

And now, the National League a.k.a the "League I Don't Watch or Know Anything About."

NL Central: St. Louis Cardinals. Pujols will kick the opposition in their poo holes.

WRONG! Man, they had a shitty year.

NL West: Los Angeles Dodgers. Strong pitching and weeeeeeeak ass division will take this one. Arizona is starting to turn around, but not this year.

WRONG! Okay, I guess Arizona was ready.

NL East: New York Mets. The offense could be killer and Pedro will return around August just in time for a playoff run.

WRONG! Eesh. I'm going to go ahead and give myself partial credit for this one. They were seven games ahead with ten games left or something ridiculous like that. What a colossal collapse. Just ridiculous.

NL Wild Card: The Chicago Cubs. That's right, I'm picking the Cubs. One of the worst teams in baseball last year will make a miraculous run into the playoffs... and then fail miserably due to injury-prone pitching.

WRONG! But they DID win the division, so I'll give myself partial credit. The actual wild card will be decided tonight between the San Diego Padres (who I thought about picking) and Colorado Rockies (who I dismissed outright as bottom dwellers).

My pre-season World Series pick was the Mets over the Indians and obviously that's not going to happen, so I'll adjust that to the Phillies over the Indians. (Note: This is a prediction of what I think will happen, not a reflection of what I want to happen. So shut it, Alena.)