Weekends are hell. If you do them right. That's the subtext of the columns scrawled by Wiley from various states of semi-consciousness as he slinks out of the woodwork and insinuates himself into the soft underbelly of Southern California consciousness. Wilier than a coyote, badder than Santa, Gonzo'er than Dr. Duke, the Wilester lays waste to everybody in range, not least himself. There are two tributaries to the flow of "The Way of the Weekend Warrior"...