On the rarest of occasions, just when you need it most, the universe will conspire to get you wasted. You'll arrive at the bar and find a missing twenty scrunched tight in your jean pocket, you'll order talls and instead be served doubles, your friend will pass a joint and after a puff you'll learn it's "the stuff they got from Snoop." You may live your life with a self-imposed three-drink maximum, but these instances (which seem to largely occur after deaths, dumpings, or firings) serve the purpose of reminding you that there is, in fact, joy left in the world, and/or you are still fun. And Le Sexy is the perfect show to increase your "karmic buzz" odds. Aside from giving me my first hardcore hangover in many years, Jackie Hell's last freak fest, which included a cavalcade of old school Seattle "ladies of the evening, neon thongs, electrical tape pasties, Halloween-masked humping and some crazy good punk rock, was the most fun I've had in ages and was responsible for adding the saying "tastes like a tranny's wig" to my lexicon of over-used phrases.