Chillaxin' With Steve

When I imagine Steve relaxing after a long day of Perry-ing it up and generally just being awesome, I picture him kicking back on his front porch with a cigar in one hand and a glass of high-quality scotch in the other. The cigar would be Cuban, of course, as Steve only demands (and rightly deserves) the best; the scotch would be a Macallan 25 Year single malt. Now before you get to thinking of Steve as a yuppie and your opinion of him goes down the shitter, let me say: Steve Perry is no yuppie. Sure, he does like the finer things in life, like top-of-the-line alcohol and smokes, but he can also party it up like a redneck eighteen year-old with a fake I.D. Trust me, Johnnie Walker and Pabst Blue Ribbon share shelf space with the Macallan. It's all good.

I also imagine Steve wearing a red silk monogrammed robe. Yeah, it's a little Hugh Hefner, but unlike Hugh, Steve can actually pull it off and not make you throw up in your mouth. In fact, he does more than just pull it off: he looks like a fucking bad-ass. I mean, picture it: that shiny, gorgeous man-hair silhouetted against dark red silk. Manly and picturesque, right? You bet your sweet ass it is.

You might have noticed the absence of a lady friend, and you would be correct. No, Steve is not going through a period of loneliness. It's just that when he relaxes, he prefers not to have any distractions, and that includes women folk. It's one hundred percent pure man time. Or rather, one hundred percent pure Steve time.

We should all take a page from Steve's book. I mean, if numbing yourself with booze and nicotine isn't relaxing, then ya got me. Am I right, or am I right?