Last night I got a call from j-dog. I hung out with him at the "Lucky Devil" and nearly got laid. I met a nerdy girl who just turned 21, and I bought her a shot. She ordered the most expensive tequila in the bar. I guess I should have figured. Her shot almost cost me more that the 3 small pitchers of bud light I was nursing that evening.
It was okay though. It was her birthday and I am on my quest to date a nerd girl.
While we waited for her shot she told me she was ex-Mormon. She said she started drinking when she was 14. Then she told me she could drink me under the table.
"Because I'm a shot girl. I only do shots."
I told her once I got under the table, "I was a trouble making troll." Then I told her about my affection for alliteration and she was like, "I'm good at math."
Her parents kicked her out of the church because they thought she was a lesbian.
"Well." I thought. "You aren't married and 21." I told her. "And you have short hair. That pretty much makes you a lesbian in the Mormon church."
She agreed. But she did not apologize for her short hair.
She had some funky glasses that hid her face well. I think that was a good thing as there may have been some cross-eyes, or Mormon inbreeding going on there.
Still she was intelligent and spoke of jokes about 8 year old boys and the pope and so that caught my attention.
But her cock blocking friends were going to have nothing to do with her talking to me. They all walked up and dragged her off, only for her to come back a few minutes later and sit down with me. We talked for like another 20 minutes and just when you thought I could have asked for her number her friends drag her off a second time.
In my youth I would have drank a few beers and waited for her to come back around, or walked outside to get her number, but I am way too old for all that now. Also, it occurred to me that she was only 21. Other than molestation, I can't think what to do with a 21 year old girl. So I bid her adieu and walked home.
Other things that happened that night.
J-dog and I talked cell phones. J-dog is an interesting cat. He is the only person I feel comfortable calling me "bro." He saw me texting and had the best line of the night when he told me to "put that slow phone away" Okay. Maybe not the best line of the night. But I now can't wait for August 20th. I am getting me an Epic 4g. No matter what. If I have to sell everything I own. I will do it!*
*Not that I have any interested buyers on the enV3 I put up for sell on craigslist.*
Other things that have nothing to do with cell phones.
J-dog's brother got arrested for punching his girlfriend. Somehow I was made to feel sorry for J-dogs brother. I guess his girl did not want to press charges, but one of the neighbors saw the punch and called the cops. The guy is on parole, so it could be messed up for him. J-dog is afraid his brother is going back to jail for a long ass stint.
The brother went to jail for stealing a million dollars from an old woman. But it wasn't like he wasn't taking care of the old gal while he was milking her. He used some of the money he stole for her, and apparently she did not want to press charges against him.
J-dog told me about how his parents spent a hundred grand on lawyers as he sipped from a 20 ounce Whataburger cup full of Jagermeister.
His brother's situation sounds a lot like the girl I felt up 20 years ago in a bar. I reached up and ran my hand real slow like up her skirt till she turned around and was like, "Hey! What the FUCK!"
I was like, "Took ya a while to say something."
Her friends looked over at me in disbelief. But then I got confirmation from the girl.
"I had my hand there for a while, right?" She let me play with her thigh. This only emboldened me and I went for the panties.
She nodded at me but was like, "You took it too far."
I guess it was the finger in the panties then?
Fair enough.
Another thing. The grandma rapper was real. A sweet 41 year old grandma. She rapped during the DJ show. She kept telling me her tits were on me. I kept thinking "Does that mean you have droopy tits? or are you into me?"
Well she wanted to fuck me. That's the third woman in the past month I turned down. So I guess me not get laid is all about me being choosy. But without a car I can't go back to her place and then never call her again. She might drop me off at home and then she'd know where I lived. And crazy-rappin' black grandmas is something you don't take lightly.
I was gonna buy a crap load of drugs from some of the people I met to celebrate my vacation. But circumstances came up and I was unable to consummate the deal Also, I am down to 100 dollars in my account. I can't see me buying drugs and eating out, going to the bookstore and buying a new phone anytime soon. Even if I start donating plasma at 50 dollars a pop.
I let you know if I am healthy enough to donate plasma. Also, if I have AIDS or some other blood disease when the tests come back.
Showing posts with label The Drunken Mis-adventures of Romius T.. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Drunken Mis-adventures of Romius T.. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Thursday, May 27, 2010
My little cinnamon girl is actually a Nazi sympathizer with a hard on for Irish men who shave their pubic area
"Are you gay?"
Those were the first words Kevin heard as he sat down next to us. Kevin looked over at the bartender like he needed to wipe the poop out of his ears.
Kevin used to be fat, but now he is not. Kevin shaved off all his hair on a whim a few days ago. If you add the shaved head to the orange t-shirt that he layered under a red vest, and then stuck a pen behind Kevin's ear, you might understand why he got asked what he got asked.
Kevin looked kinda gay, but I am certain that they don't teach bartenders to scream out at patrons potentially embarrassing questions like, "Do you mind if we remark upon your possible sexual disposition?" Even at the English Bar Tending Academy of Assholery (albeit they would be talking shit with an English accent and an accent makes everything you say seem cool.)
I was sitting next to SweetLeif and farting when Kevin walked into the bar. I think my farting is somehow connected to the fact that I am shitting yellow again.
I shit yellow because my liver is melting apart like an AIDS patient on his fourth med cocktail. If you don't know anything about AIDS, and the multiple medications they give you to control the disease, and how when mixed those multiple medications literally eat your body apart, then do yourself a favor and try not to imagine your insides liquefying into a gooey mess that leaks out of your anal cavity onto the floor into some extra heavy duty colostomy bag.
Kevin sat down without mentioning my farts and tried to wipe the shocked look off his face. He mumbled something to me about never "dressing down at work again" and he asked me if he looked gay.
I told him "ya." But I only tell him that because he is a homophobe, and I don't want him beating the snot out of some rinky dink twink who gets the idea that Kevin could be his "sweet daddy bear."
The bartender is obnoxiously drunk, but for some reason I am the only person in the bar who realizes this. I keep trying to tell Leif and Kevin that the bartender is really drunk but they keep telling me that she "looks normal."
I ignore their protests, because I am on "pep pills" and pep pills give me near super human powers of observation. I stole three of the "pep pills" Leif uses as a "diet aid" right out of his car before we both walked into the bar.
Leif is a skinny bitch that has all the girls at Wal*Mart telling him how they'd love to have his "figure." Even though Leif is as skinny as an Olson Twin he is still trying to squeeze an extra 10 pounds off his already too thin frame. I imagine that Leif has the same conversation with himself that the Olsen Twins have every morning before they brush their teeth together in their twin sinks.
The conversation goes something like "how fat they are," and "how they could stand to miss a few meals," and then something about "how homeless people have all the real style in the world," and how it's "too bad" rich people can't spend thousands of dollars on a outfit that makes them look like they've taken heroin for two weeks and are on a comedown and now they've stopped caring about things like showers and clean clothes, or stuff that matches, and instead they have replaced all those common sense ideas with the theory that they should "from now on" only wear stuff that looks "insanely big on them."
Thinking about the Olsen Twins has gotten me irritated, or maybe it's just the pep pills that have got me revved up, but now I am pissed off at the crazy Irish man sitting across the bar from us screaming at me how he is "Irish" and he how he needs to know if "we are" and "if we are not Irish what ARE we?"
"NOT Irish." I tell him. By emphasizing the "not" I hoped the drunk would get the hint that I was not interested in playing any of his ethnocentric labeling games.
But the drunk did not get the hint.
Fed up with the drunken Irish guy and the obnoxious bartender I grabbed the pitcher of beer we were drinking and followed Leif outside to the smoking patio. Kevin walked out to his car to find his drinking cigars. Kevin "only smokes cigars when he drinks" he liked to remind us. Like after he smoked a cigar I was going to make him count 4 Hail Mary's or something.
"I may like to touch little girls." I tell Kevin. "But I am not your priest."
I don't remember why the bartender began to argue with me. I do remember she repeated a lot of the same stuff that Robert the 5 tour Vietnam Veteran had to say to me the last time I was in the bar.
I was in a mood to argue with someone. I like getting a rise out of her Kristine the bartender. Though whenever we debate we mostly talk over one another.
That night her arguments consisted mostly of and ad hominem attacks on my personality (that happen to be true) like "how I am too much of a coward to defend my country," and "how I never do anything with my beliefs in the real world- if you don't count yelling at people I don't like at bars and the like."
"All true." I tell her. And then I remind her that I never told her that I was a "good person." Then I told her that "just by thinking that some people" (in her case military people) "have more of right to say about how things 'ought to be' could easily lead to situations like Nazi Germany."
Now, I know that whenever a liberal like myself uses the Nazi Card that we have scrapped the bottom of the barrel when it comes to making an argument. But like I said before, the girl was obnoxiously drunk, and not listening to anything I said, and basically kept sticking her giant finger in my face and spilling Miller Hi Life on my Converse sneakers. She was getting annoying, and I figured calling her out as a Nazi was the best way to get her to shut the fuck up and listen.
Only what she said next got me to shut up, because she basically said that Nazi Germans were "right" to follow orders and that Nazis were better people than "faggot little commies like me" where she took "faggot" to not mean gay "Cuz I mean no disrespect to you (she points to Lief and Kevin) and your faggotey friends."
You would think things would get weird then. I mean a drunken bartender just called me a commie faggot, and then the she defended the extermination of 6 million Jews under the pretense that people who train to kill other people should be more involved in the organization of the social order. You might think this would cause even the backwater rednecks that populate this neighborhood bar to take a step back and think.
But it did not.
In between hugging her goat-bearded, badly tattooed, Irish, ball shaving, adulterous companion, my bartender complimented me on "having the balls to be outspoken" and "for standing up for what I believe" and "for living in a country where we can take all this freedom for granted" though I am not sure what I had to do with the last part.
I do know that the squirrelly Irish man did not appreciate that I could keep up with his woman during a debate, and how she fawned over the challenge that I presented to her in the form of my nuanced rebuttals of her patently fallacious theories.
The final pièce de résistance? Our bar tab was free. She insisted that we owed nothing when we asked to settle our account.
My friends left her a generous tip, and I offered to pay their way at WhataBurger. My attempts at gallantry was soon rebuffed by the automated payment system at WhataBurger where my card was impolitely declined on no less than three separate occasions.
The evening was capped off by the inhalation of several viles full of the legal plant Salvia which at the modest 5x strength imparts to its participant nothing more than the warm feeling of bemusement at life's inner tragedies.
Good Nite and Good Luck to ya,
Romius T.,
Those were the first words Kevin heard as he sat down next to us. Kevin looked over at the bartender like he needed to wipe the poop out of his ears.
Kevin used to be fat, but now he is not. Kevin shaved off all his hair on a whim a few days ago. If you add the shaved head to the orange t-shirt that he layered under a red vest, and then stuck a pen behind Kevin's ear, you might understand why he got asked what he got asked.
Kevin looked kinda gay, but I am certain that they don't teach bartenders to scream out at patrons potentially embarrassing questions like, "Do you mind if we remark upon your possible sexual disposition?" Even at the English Bar Tending Academy of Assholery (albeit they would be talking shit with an English accent and an accent makes everything you say seem cool.)
I was sitting next to SweetLeif and farting when Kevin walked into the bar. I think my farting is somehow connected to the fact that I am shitting yellow again.
I shit yellow because my liver is melting apart like an AIDS patient on his fourth med cocktail. If you don't know anything about AIDS, and the multiple medications they give you to control the disease, and how when mixed those multiple medications literally eat your body apart, then do yourself a favor and try not to imagine your insides liquefying into a gooey mess that leaks out of your anal cavity onto the floor into some extra heavy duty colostomy bag.
Kevin sat down without mentioning my farts and tried to wipe the shocked look off his face. He mumbled something to me about never "dressing down at work again" and he asked me if he looked gay.
I told him "ya." But I only tell him that because he is a homophobe, and I don't want him beating the snot out of some rinky dink twink who gets the idea that Kevin could be his "sweet daddy bear."
The bartender is obnoxiously drunk, but for some reason I am the only person in the bar who realizes this. I keep trying to tell Leif and Kevin that the bartender is really drunk but they keep telling me that she "looks normal."
I ignore their protests, because I am on "pep pills" and pep pills give me near super human powers of observation. I stole three of the "pep pills" Leif uses as a "diet aid" right out of his car before we both walked into the bar.
Leif is a skinny bitch that has all the girls at Wal*Mart telling him how they'd love to have his "figure." Even though Leif is as skinny as an Olson Twin he is still trying to squeeze an extra 10 pounds off his already too thin frame. I imagine that Leif has the same conversation with himself that the Olsen Twins have every morning before they brush their teeth together in their twin sinks.
The conversation goes something like "how fat they are," and "how they could stand to miss a few meals," and then something about "how homeless people have all the real style in the world," and how it's "too bad" rich people can't spend thousands of dollars on a outfit that makes them look like they've taken heroin for two weeks and are on a comedown and now they've stopped caring about things like showers and clean clothes, or stuff that matches, and instead they have replaced all those common sense ideas with the theory that they should "from now on" only wear stuff that looks "insanely big on them."
Thinking about the Olsen Twins has gotten me irritated, or maybe it's just the pep pills that have got me revved up, but now I am pissed off at the crazy Irish man sitting across the bar from us screaming at me how he is "Irish" and he how he needs to know if "we are" and "if we are not Irish what ARE we?"
"NOT Irish." I tell him. By emphasizing the "not" I hoped the drunk would get the hint that I was not interested in playing any of his ethnocentric labeling games.
But the drunk did not get the hint.
Fed up with the drunken Irish guy and the obnoxious bartender I grabbed the pitcher of beer we were drinking and followed Leif outside to the smoking patio. Kevin walked out to his car to find his drinking cigars. Kevin "only smokes cigars when he drinks" he liked to remind us. Like after he smoked a cigar I was going to make him count 4 Hail Mary's or something.
"I may like to touch little girls." I tell Kevin. "But I am not your priest."
I don't remember why the bartender began to argue with me. I do remember she repeated a lot of the same stuff that Robert the 5 tour Vietnam Veteran had to say to me the last time I was in the bar.
I was in a mood to argue with someone. I like getting a rise out of her Kristine the bartender. Though whenever we debate we mostly talk over one another.
That night her arguments consisted mostly of and ad hominem attacks on my personality (that happen to be true) like "how I am too much of a coward to defend my country," and "how I never do anything with my beliefs in the real world- if you don't count yelling at people I don't like at bars and the like."
"All true." I tell her. And then I remind her that I never told her that I was a "good person." Then I told her that "just by thinking that some people" (in her case military people) "have more of right to say about how things 'ought to be' could easily lead to situations like Nazi Germany."
Now, I know that whenever a liberal like myself uses the Nazi Card that we have scrapped the bottom of the barrel when it comes to making an argument. But like I said before, the girl was obnoxiously drunk, and not listening to anything I said, and basically kept sticking her giant finger in my face and spilling Miller Hi Life on my Converse sneakers. She was getting annoying, and I figured calling her out as a Nazi was the best way to get her to shut the fuck up and listen.
Only what she said next got me to shut up, because she basically said that Nazi Germans were "right" to follow orders and that Nazis were better people than "faggot little commies like me" where she took "faggot" to not mean gay "Cuz I mean no disrespect to you (she points to Lief and Kevin) and your faggotey friends."
You would think things would get weird then. I mean a drunken bartender just called me a commie faggot, and then the she defended the extermination of 6 million Jews under the pretense that people who train to kill other people should be more involved in the organization of the social order. You might think this would cause even the backwater rednecks that populate this neighborhood bar to take a step back and think.
But it did not.
In between hugging her goat-bearded, badly tattooed, Irish, ball shaving, adulterous companion, my bartender complimented me on "having the balls to be outspoken" and "for standing up for what I believe" and "for living in a country where we can take all this freedom for granted" though I am not sure what I had to do with the last part.
I do know that the squirrelly Irish man did not appreciate that I could keep up with his woman during a debate, and how she fawned over the challenge that I presented to her in the form of my nuanced rebuttals of her patently fallacious theories.
The final pièce de résistance? Our bar tab was free. She insisted that we owed nothing when we asked to settle our account.
My friends left her a generous tip, and I offered to pay their way at WhataBurger. My attempts at gallantry was soon rebuffed by the automated payment system at WhataBurger where my card was impolitely declined on no less than three separate occasions.
The evening was capped off by the inhalation of several viles full of the legal plant Salvia which at the modest 5x strength imparts to its participant nothing more than the warm feeling of bemusement at life's inner tragedies.
Good Nite and Good Luck to ya,
Romius T.,
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Part 1 of the St. Patrick Holiday Re-cap (edited)
I can still smell the cigarettes on me. The stale ash is buried in my nasal passages like a band of Hobgoblins making camp from my Dungeons & Dragons
playing days. (The above link is an advertisement)
My plan to celebrate St. Patrick's Day was to go downtown to Mill in Tempe and walk around downtown on E. I wanted to visit as many different bars as I could. That way I could check out the vibe of each place and see which one was the best bar to chill at whenever I used.
But instead I ended up at the Yucca Tap Room all because Emma asked me to meet her at a bar after work.
When a 65 year old woman asks you out to celebrate Saint Patrick's Day you feel like it is the right thing to do, since you have no idea if she will still be around next year to go drinking with.
I love hanging out with Emma. She has such a young soul. Whenever we are together she tells me stories form her "whoring around period." I love listening to Emma remissness about her glory days.
I got off work that night earlier than everyone else. Emma and the most of the rest of the gang I hang out with from work did not get off work till after midnight.
8pm
I got dressed to go out at work. I chose the Khaki pants I wear at work, because they look like fake Dickie's, and I wanted to try and pass for hipster. I wore a black t-shirt that told the world I was "Irish for the Day." The shirt and pants went well with my new, fake, black converse shoes.
I was feeling good about myself because I had received a number of compliments about the shirt. not only that but I was feeling skinny because I had skipped lunch and dinner that day. I don't eat before I drink anymore, because otherwise my liver is too strong and I don't feel the buzz anymore.
After getting dressed in a stinky public restroom, I walked over to the Yucca Tap Room. The Yucca Tap is an institution in Tempe and is one of the few remaining dive bars around. The Tap is just a regular neighborhood bar, but it has worked fiercely to retain its working class vibe despite the influx of hipsters from ASU.
In a nod to the growing influence of the hipsters and the affluent the owners have built a new trendier, upscale bar right next to the Yucca.
I'd never been inside the new bar but was curious, so I took a chance and went inside.
Once inside the bar I had a nice conversation with the first guy I sat down next to. He worked promoting Left Foot Beer, a small brewery in Oregon. We talked about what makes beer special and he gave me a short version of the speech he gives to all his customers.
He told me how I probably grew up drinking Coors Light and I was all of a sudden interested in trying something new because I could afford it.
The guy sounded a bit like he was reading off a script when he talked, but he still managed to seem genuine. A neat trick for a guy in his business.
I did not tell him I had been drinking for 25 years, and had been trying small pubs and different beers since I was in my mid twenties. Not did I tell him how I hated Coors Light (that is until they made those cool temperature activated cans. Sorry, but I really like knowing my beer is cold.)
I drank non-mainstream beer from around the time the at-home brewing phenomenon took off. I was also pretty familiar with beer (mostly because I had friends who had made their own beer.) over the years my friends have forced me to try hundreds of different kinds of beers.
But I soaked up his wisdom and played the fool for him because it made him happy.
While he talked I waited for one of my coworkers to get off work. On my way to the Yucca my friend Mari surprised me by saying she wanted to get together for a beer after she got off work. She told me she got off work at 9 and I should expect her around then.
I glanced down at my cell to check the time and to the chagrin of my Left Foot sales guy I ordered a second Four Peaks beer.
"Loyalty to a hometown brew is nice, but other places make a fine beer." He cautioned me.
"I know you FEEL like you have a connection to a hometown pub, but really it's just that." He looked over at me smugly.
I thanked him for the psychological insight and accepted his offer of a shot of stout that was made by his company.
He was right they made a nice stout, "But you have to be a stout person to enjoy a stout." He agreed with my comment and later in the night before he left he bought me a beer that he told me I was guaranteed to love, "Since I like Kilt Lifter so much."
A female coworker of his offered me a free t-shirt. Pumped, I gladly accepted the free offering. It felt like years since the last time I got a free t-shirt,or free glass on St. Patty's Day.
I was excited until I looked down at the tag and noticed 2x Large.
"Am I fat looking?"
I shrugged off the feeling assuming it was the last shirt she had and that all the hipsters in the bar room wanted extra small shirts to go with their skinny jeans.
At 9 o'clock I was wondering where Mari was. Like a gypsy with ESP she sent a text telling me she was on her way.
"First condition." She texted me. "Is that you have to buy me a drink."
"You bet!" I answered her text back quickly, looking forward to talking to some oneI actually knew.
Not that I did not enjoy talking to the people at the bar. I ordered food from the bartender after the guy next to me overheard me talking to myself about getting drunk fast because I had not eaten much.
He suggested the pizza. He said it was a lot like Red Devil's Pizza, a pizza I really enjoy.
I scarfed the pizza down as soon as it came. The crust was thin and chewy. The sauce was sweet and ripe. The cheese tasty. My only complaint would be that half the crust was soft. I assume from sitting under a hot lamp for too long.
When Mari arrived we gave each other a quick hug. She sat down next to me wearing the exact same shirt I had on. We both bought the shirt at work that day for $2.43.
We made a joke about being twins and Mari took photos of us highlighting our shirt to post later on her Facebook profile.
Mari placed her phone down on the table just as the bartender approached us. He asked her what she'd like and she yelled over the jukebox that she'd like "a long island."
I shot a look at the bartender and told him to "put it on my tab." The bartender gave me an admiring look and whispered "smart move."
Mari and I laughed off the bartenders suggestion and we got to talking about twitter. I told her how to access her account and how to follow my twitter on her phone. I then began to follow her tweets on my phone as well.
I am a big phone geek now so we talked about twitter and her cell phone for a good 30 minutes, trying out new things on her phone and twittering to all of our friends in hopes they would show up.
Mari sipped her Long Island carefully and complained to me that her drink was too strong. Then she ran outside to answer a phone call from her husband. She told him she was meeting some friends after work for a quick drink. I think Mari felt guilty telling her husband that she was meeting "friends" when they all turned out just to be me.
After Mari returned from her phone call I got a text from Leif saying that he was going to show up around 10. I decided there was no chance of me getting to Mill Ave. so I decided to excuse myself from Mari and pop my e tablet in the dive bar next door.
Stay tuned for St. Patty's on E.
playing days. (The above link is an advertisement)My plan to celebrate St. Patrick's Day was to go downtown to Mill in Tempe and walk around downtown on E. I wanted to visit as many different bars as I could. That way I could check out the vibe of each place and see which one was the best bar to chill at whenever I used.
But instead I ended up at the Yucca Tap Room all because Emma asked me to meet her at a bar after work.
When a 65 year old woman asks you out to celebrate Saint Patrick's Day you feel like it is the right thing to do, since you have no idea if she will still be around next year to go drinking with.
I love hanging out with Emma. She has such a young soul. Whenever we are together she tells me stories form her "whoring around period." I love listening to Emma remissness about her glory days.
I got off work that night earlier than everyone else. Emma and the most of the rest of the gang I hang out with from work did not get off work till after midnight.
8pm
I got dressed to go out at work. I chose the Khaki pants I wear at work, because they look like fake Dickie's, and I wanted to try and pass for hipster. I wore a black t-shirt that told the world I was "Irish for the Day." The shirt and pants went well with my new, fake, black converse shoes.
I was feeling good about myself because I had received a number of compliments about the shirt. not only that but I was feeling skinny because I had skipped lunch and dinner that day. I don't eat before I drink anymore, because otherwise my liver is too strong and I don't feel the buzz anymore.
After getting dressed in a stinky public restroom, I walked over to the Yucca Tap Room. The Yucca Tap is an institution in Tempe and is one of the few remaining dive bars around. The Tap is just a regular neighborhood bar, but it has worked fiercely to retain its working class vibe despite the influx of hipsters from ASU.
In a nod to the growing influence of the hipsters and the affluent the owners have built a new trendier, upscale bar right next to the Yucca.
I'd never been inside the new bar but was curious, so I took a chance and went inside.
Once inside the bar I had a nice conversation with the first guy I sat down next to. He worked promoting Left Foot Beer, a small brewery in Oregon. We talked about what makes beer special and he gave me a short version of the speech he gives to all his customers.
He told me how I probably grew up drinking Coors Light and I was all of a sudden interested in trying something new because I could afford it.
The guy sounded a bit like he was reading off a script when he talked, but he still managed to seem genuine. A neat trick for a guy in his business.
I did not tell him I had been drinking for 25 years, and had been trying small pubs and different beers since I was in my mid twenties. Not did I tell him how I hated Coors Light (that is until they made those cool temperature activated cans. Sorry, but I really like knowing my beer is cold.)
I drank non-mainstream beer from around the time the at-home brewing phenomenon took off. I was also pretty familiar with beer (mostly because I had friends who had made their own beer.) over the years my friends have forced me to try hundreds of different kinds of beers.
But I soaked up his wisdom and played the fool for him because it made him happy.
While he talked I waited for one of my coworkers to get off work. On my way to the Yucca my friend Mari surprised me by saying she wanted to get together for a beer after she got off work. She told me she got off work at 9 and I should expect her around then.
I glanced down at my cell to check the time and to the chagrin of my Left Foot sales guy I ordered a second Four Peaks beer.
"Loyalty to a hometown brew is nice, but other places make a fine beer." He cautioned me.
"I know you FEEL like you have a connection to a hometown pub, but really it's just that." He looked over at me smugly.
I thanked him for the psychological insight and accepted his offer of a shot of stout that was made by his company.
He was right they made a nice stout, "But you have to be a stout person to enjoy a stout." He agreed with my comment and later in the night before he left he bought me a beer that he told me I was guaranteed to love, "Since I like Kilt Lifter so much."
A female coworker of his offered me a free t-shirt. Pumped, I gladly accepted the free offering. It felt like years since the last time I got a free t-shirt,or free glass on St. Patty's Day.
I was excited until I looked down at the tag and noticed 2x Large.
"Am I fat looking?"
I shrugged off the feeling assuming it was the last shirt she had and that all the hipsters in the bar room wanted extra small shirts to go with their skinny jeans.
At 9 o'clock I was wondering where Mari was. Like a gypsy with ESP she sent a text telling me she was on her way.
"First condition." She texted me. "Is that you have to buy me a drink."
"You bet!" I answered her text back quickly, looking forward to talking to some oneI actually knew.
Not that I did not enjoy talking to the people at the bar. I ordered food from the bartender after the guy next to me overheard me talking to myself about getting drunk fast because I had not eaten much.
He suggested the pizza. He said it was a lot like Red Devil's Pizza, a pizza I really enjoy.
I scarfed the pizza down as soon as it came. The crust was thin and chewy. The sauce was sweet and ripe. The cheese tasty. My only complaint would be that half the crust was soft. I assume from sitting under a hot lamp for too long.
When Mari arrived we gave each other a quick hug. She sat down next to me wearing the exact same shirt I had on. We both bought the shirt at work that day for $2.43.
We made a joke about being twins and Mari took photos of us highlighting our shirt to post later on her Facebook profile.
Mari placed her phone down on the table just as the bartender approached us. He asked her what she'd like and she yelled over the jukebox that she'd like "a long island."
I shot a look at the bartender and told him to "put it on my tab." The bartender gave me an admiring look and whispered "smart move."
Mari and I laughed off the bartenders suggestion and we got to talking about twitter. I told her how to access her account and how to follow my twitter on her phone. I then began to follow her tweets on my phone as well.
I am a big phone geek now so we talked about twitter and her cell phone for a good 30 minutes, trying out new things on her phone and twittering to all of our friends in hopes they would show up.
Mari sipped her Long Island carefully and complained to me that her drink was too strong. Then she ran outside to answer a phone call from her husband. She told him she was meeting some friends after work for a quick drink. I think Mari felt guilty telling her husband that she was meeting "friends" when they all turned out just to be me.
After Mari returned from her phone call I got a text from Leif saying that he was going to show up around 10. I decided there was no chance of me getting to Mill Ave. so I decided to excuse myself from Mari and pop my e tablet in the dive bar next door.
Stay tuned for St. Patty's on E.
Tuesday, February 09, 2010
Regret is never enough
It ended with regret.
Like most things I do in my life. But at the time I had no idea that it would end that way. I never do. I just plunge straight into things without thinking.
"At a certain point you get used to things not working out for you." I lament to the drunk next to me.
Shane is shit-faced and leaning to close to me. The black derby styled hat perched on his head looks ridiculous.
"This is a fucking dive bar." I tell myself. "No way in hell a guy should be in here wearing a hat like that."
I am going to tell Shane my darkest thoughts. I am going to tell him the things that make me ashamed to be alive. I want to choke him on my perversity, my demons.
"We all think things like that, man." He breathes at me.
The air around me is now toxic with stale onions and vomit.
"I want to tie a woman up with masking tape, and douse her in ketchup, and wrap her in plastic lawn bags and give her so much alcohol and pain killers that she doesn't wake up for a day or two after we start to fuck."
I pause just long enough to gulp down what's left of my beer.
"I want to fuck her only through the drunk daze of chemicals. I want her to wake up feeling violated. I want her to beg for me to do it again." I let my voice soften and drift away.
"Man that ain't nothing." Shane says.
Shane takes off his hat and wipes his brow with both of his pale skinny hands.
"I mean…" He stutters.
"I've done stuff I regret." He adds.
I look over at Rhonda the bartender. Her face is grinning at me. I think she loved every minute of my little soliloquy.
"You're one CRAZY ass mutherfucker." She tells me. "You know that?"
"I think I do."
Saturday, January 23, 2010
More at the end of the road
I was telling my friend Leif (you call him Lester) that:
"I liked everything about the movie The Road except for the ending."
A new pair of tits is slinging beer from behind the bar. The new tits are wrapped in a wife beater t-shirt. New tits has tats up and down her shoulders. New tits hair is crew cut short and slicked back.
"But I liked the movie." I say.
"The movie is one of those post-apocalyptic Sci-Fi movies about a boy and his father. Only this movie gets a lot of it right."
"I mean the movie is completely fucking depressing."
New Tits pours me a beer. She slides the beer over to me. She gives me a wink. New tits checks me out in that I am not being discreet I am checking you out but you aren't supposed to see me checking you out way.
But only I know she is not really checking me out she is only pretending to check me out because she has sized me up already. She has figured out how I like attention from women. Because she is a fucking genius, New Tits is.
She has this idea that being friendly, but not too friendly, is going to earn her some tips tonight. And since there are only 5 or six other people in the bar and most of them appear to be asleep or dead she might as well hang out near me and Leif.
"Bad things are happening in this movie. Really bad things."
I say.
I am talking really loudly. I am talking loud enough for the whole bar to hear me. I am being dramatic. I am using body language. I am using all kinds of vocal intonations and arm gesticulations to get my point across.
"People are dying. Everyone is hungry. There are cannibals everywhere."
I throw my hands up.
"People are committing suicide."
People would rather kill themselves than live in this movie and that makes a lot of sense to me.
"In the movie things are always getting worse. Every time something bad happens and the father and son escape to a new situation, the next situation is even worse than the old one."
I can see the bar is not convinced.
"At one point the father/son team escape from a group of cannibals and finds a cabin. You think to yourself. Nice, a cabin! Maybe they will be safe for a second." I pause for dramatic effect.
"But not for a second." I deadpan.
"The cabin is home to a bunch of cannibals who plan on feeding off a bunch of people they have locked in a cellar."
I look over at Leif who looks like he wants to throw up.
"Jesus." New Tits says in disgust.
"Some of the captives have had their arms or their legs amputated and eaten." I tell New Tits.
"Christ." New Tits finishes.
"The best part of the movie is how there is no hope. Things are only getting worse. No matter how much people try, no matter how noble their efforts at survival are, they just can't catch a break."
Leif interrupts me. "If you plan on killing yourself…I want you to tell me first."
I laugh at him, "Okay, man. I promise."
"I liked everything about the movie The Road except for the ending."
A new pair of tits is slinging beer from behind the bar. The new tits are wrapped in a wife beater t-shirt. New tits has tats up and down her shoulders. New tits hair is crew cut short and slicked back.
"But I liked the movie." I say.
"The movie is one of those post-apocalyptic Sci-Fi movies about a boy and his father. Only this movie gets a lot of it right."
"I mean the movie is completely fucking depressing."
New Tits pours me a beer. She slides the beer over to me. She gives me a wink. New tits checks me out in that I am not being discreet I am checking you out but you aren't supposed to see me checking you out way.
But only I know she is not really checking me out she is only pretending to check me out because she has sized me up already. She has figured out how I like attention from women. Because she is a fucking genius, New Tits is.
She has this idea that being friendly, but not too friendly, is going to earn her some tips tonight. And since there are only 5 or six other people in the bar and most of them appear to be asleep or dead she might as well hang out near me and Leif.
"Bad things are happening in this movie. Really bad things."
I say.
I am talking really loudly. I am talking loud enough for the whole bar to hear me. I am being dramatic. I am using body language. I am using all kinds of vocal intonations and arm gesticulations to get my point across.
"People are dying. Everyone is hungry. There are cannibals everywhere."
I throw my hands up.
"People are committing suicide."
People would rather kill themselves than live in this movie and that makes a lot of sense to me.
"In the movie things are always getting worse. Every time something bad happens and the father and son escape to a new situation, the next situation is even worse than the old one."
I can see the bar is not convinced.
"At one point the father/son team escape from a group of cannibals and finds a cabin. You think to yourself. Nice, a cabin! Maybe they will be safe for a second." I pause for dramatic effect.
"But not for a second." I deadpan.
"The cabin is home to a bunch of cannibals who plan on feeding off a bunch of people they have locked in a cellar."
I look over at Leif who looks like he wants to throw up.
"Jesus." New Tits says in disgust.
"Some of the captives have had their arms or their legs amputated and eaten." I tell New Tits.
"Christ." New Tits finishes.
"The best part of the movie is how there is no hope. Things are only getting worse. No matter how much people try, no matter how noble their efforts at survival are, they just can't catch a break."
Leif interrupts me. "If you plan on killing yourself…I want you to tell me first."
I laugh at him, "Okay, man. I promise."
Thursday, January 21, 2010
At the end of the road is the guy you left vomiting in the toilet stall all by himself
And he gets all mad at you and says things like:
"Hold my hair back."
"Why didn't you hold my hair back?"
"I can't believe you didn't stay with me while I puked on you, and I can't believe you didn't hold my hair back as I puked into that smelly ass toilet."
"Why did you bring me to this shit hole dive bar?"
"Is is just because you want to score with the fucking EMO chicks?"
I remind Leif there is no such thing as a 30 year old EMO chick.
"There are only 30 year old hipster chicks, or fastly approaching 30 year old hipster chicks."
The only EMO's I know are 14 year old girls.
Splashing sound.
I am holding his hair back as he pukes.
The sound I am hearing is like the sound you hear when you pour a pitcher of kool aid into a bathtub. Only the purple splashes hitting your feet in that case would not frighten you.
Leif says, "Are you holding my hair back?" His hair is full of puke.
"I am holding you stupid fucking hair back." I tell Leif.
I tell Leif. "I am keeping your highlights from getting damaged by the powerful stomach acids that are shooting out of your throat."
Leif is drunk. Leif is deranged. Leif insists I am not there. Leif is angry that I left him puking his guts out in the stall of The Tailgate Bar.
Leif has never been to a dive bar. Leif wants to know if he is pretty. Leif wants me to be his pimp.
I tell Leif that all that puking is going to make him thin. I tell Leif that I wish I could puke like that. Then I would have tight abs like he has. I tell Leif that the $10,000 dollars he has been offered by the GENTLEMAN is not enough.
"You are going to be rich and skinny forever." I tell Leif.
I need to get some cocaine. All this hand holding is getting on my nerves. I'd rather be drinking what's left of my beer. The dyke lesbian bartender in the other room is probably pouring my beer out as we speak.
"I look like shit." Leif slurs. His throat is dry and course from all the puking.
I have no idea when my puking sympathetic reflex is going to kick in.
"Your fucking sexy, Leif." I lie to him.
I tell him how I have a semi hard on and I suggest that he make a grab at my dick if he doubts it.
He says it would make no difference.
"Your cock's too small to know the difference." He says suddenly feisty.
I let go of his hair and his head hits the porcelain lid of the toilet and bounces off it. I catch his head before it hits a second time.
"Shut the fuck up!" I scream at him.
"My cock is big enough." I tell him.
Leif is suddenly sorry. Leif is sobbing uncontrollably.
"You've got to pull yourself together man." I tell him. "I am not going out there with you if your lipstick is all smudged up."
"I thought we were friends." He says.
"We are." I tell him.
"I'm gonna take care of you." I say.
"Who do you think is gonna drive you home?" I ask him.
He looks up at me.
"That's right."
"Me."
I'm risking 6 years in jail. I have 4 or 5 DUI's. All depends on the way you want to count them.
"I am going to drive through Tempe drunk as hell." I say to him. The cops are everywhere I am sure.
"First we are going to pick up Krystal." I tell Leif. "Then we are going to get some WhataBurgers."
"We have a plan." Leif sighs, relieved.
"Hold my hair back."
"Why didn't you hold my hair back?"
"I can't believe you didn't stay with me while I puked on you, and I can't believe you didn't hold my hair back as I puked into that smelly ass toilet."
"Why did you bring me to this shit hole dive bar?"
"Is is just because you want to score with the fucking EMO chicks?"
I remind Leif there is no such thing as a 30 year old EMO chick.
"There are only 30 year old hipster chicks, or fastly approaching 30 year old hipster chicks."
The only EMO's I know are 14 year old girls.
Splashing sound.
I am holding his hair back as he pukes.
The sound I am hearing is like the sound you hear when you pour a pitcher of kool aid into a bathtub. Only the purple splashes hitting your feet in that case would not frighten you.
Leif says, "Are you holding my hair back?" His hair is full of puke.
"I am holding you stupid fucking hair back." I tell Leif.
I tell Leif. "I am keeping your highlights from getting damaged by the powerful stomach acids that are shooting out of your throat."
Leif is drunk. Leif is deranged. Leif insists I am not there. Leif is angry that I left him puking his guts out in the stall of The Tailgate Bar.
Leif has never been to a dive bar. Leif wants to know if he is pretty. Leif wants me to be his pimp.
I tell Leif that all that puking is going to make him thin. I tell Leif that I wish I could puke like that. Then I would have tight abs like he has. I tell Leif that the $10,000 dollars he has been offered by the GENTLEMAN is not enough.
"You are going to be rich and skinny forever." I tell Leif.
I need to get some cocaine. All this hand holding is getting on my nerves. I'd rather be drinking what's left of my beer. The dyke lesbian bartender in the other room is probably pouring my beer out as we speak.
"I look like shit." Leif slurs. His throat is dry and course from all the puking.
I have no idea when my puking sympathetic reflex is going to kick in.
"Your fucking sexy, Leif." I lie to him.
I tell him how I have a semi hard on and I suggest that he make a grab at my dick if he doubts it.
He says it would make no difference.
"Your cock's too small to know the difference." He says suddenly feisty.
I let go of his hair and his head hits the porcelain lid of the toilet and bounces off it. I catch his head before it hits a second time.
"Shut the fuck up!" I scream at him.
"My cock is big enough." I tell him.
Leif is suddenly sorry. Leif is sobbing uncontrollably.
"You've got to pull yourself together man." I tell him. "I am not going out there with you if your lipstick is all smudged up."
"I thought we were friends." He says.
"We are." I tell him.
"I'm gonna take care of you." I say.
"Who do you think is gonna drive you home?" I ask him.
He looks up at me.
"That's right."
"Me."
I'm risking 6 years in jail. I have 4 or 5 DUI's. All depends on the way you want to count them.
"I am going to drive through Tempe drunk as hell." I say to him. The cops are everywhere I am sure.
"First we are going to pick up Krystal." I tell Leif. "Then we are going to get some WhataBurgers."
"We have a plan." Leif sighs, relieved.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
When Martin Attacks
There are people out there who want to tell you a story. They will bend down to whisper things in your ear that they are ashamed to say out loud in line at the grocery store. They will tell you that things are going to shit. The world is falling apart.
They spit a bit into your ear when they tell you, "Plan for the worst. Things won't be getting better."
It's true. Life is shit. But that does not mean that everybody I know isn't better off than me. The spit mumbled narrative is not the story of "our" times. It's just the story of my life.
Martin had a plan to kill Lester.
The plan backfired. It ended in a sad ironic twist.
But before that Martin sat on the video game chair getting pissed. Not far from his line of vision a couple of cockroaches ran from the dishwasher to the cabinet. No one at the party noticed them. The cockroaches counted themselves lucky after they reached the safety of the dark food pantry.
There is a party going on but someone forgot to buy plastic cups, so we are all drinking out of dirty glasses. The host of the party is running around asking people if they have "seen any of her shot glasses." The party hosts also forgot to purchase toilet paper. There is a crate of empty beer cans and trash in the middle of the floor of the living room that we have to step around to get to the beer stored in the refrigerator.
An mp3 player is connected to a couple of computer speakers. The speakers strain to be heard over the noise of a half dozen teenagers getting drunk. The piles of damp towels on the floor in each of the bedrooms are beginning to mildew. The towel's eerie smell sticks to your goatee when you use them to dry off spilled beer.
Martin is upset that the door to Jessie's room is locked. He has tried unlocking the door, but the cheap apartment frame and the door's hollow particle board center are too much for him. The door remains securely locked. Whatever secrets the door has kept from Martin remain hidden.
Martin is drinking heavily. He has consumed one of the two bottles of Crown Royal purchased for the party by himself. I bought the Crown because it was on sale. Buy one get on free. I never knew how smooth Crown Royal was until I tried it at the party. Now I see why all the kids in the Ghetto enjoy it. You can't taste the liquor or the alcohol. All you taste is the Dr. Pepper you bought to mix it with.
The television is on. On the screen a man is talking behind a podium. There is a large red devil painted into the background of the podium. The man behind it is talking about Abbey Hoffman and the counter culture.
The party has gone through 3 cases of Budweiser in addition to a quart of vodka and the Crown Royal.
The man on the television is telling me it is okay to take money from yuppies. "Yuppies want to pretend they are part of the counter movement. Don't worry that's okay. We are ALL part of the movement."
I wonder if the man is talking about me. I wonder if I am counter culture because I am twice the age of the second oldest person here. I am not sure. I wonder if being old only makes me perverted. I begin to question my attendance at this party after I get a lap dance from an 18 year old girl who tells me, "She thinks of me as a father figure."
"You have a strange father." I tell her.
She lifts her shirt to show me her belly. She slowly grinds me. Her breasts nuzzle against me awkwardly. As soon as her breasts touch my face they stop. She falls forward off the chair and off of me to the ground. She laughs and runs back to the bedroom where Lester waits. Lester locks the door again and I think that's when Martin begins to think about killing Lester.
Martin and Jessie have a history. The history consists of Martin trying to conquer Jessie and failing. I can imagine why he is worried. All that hard work Martin has put in over the years has left Jessie vulnerable. Martin is fuming that Lester is going to take advantage of all of Martin's hard work.
"If you take Ritalin you will be able to stare at boring websites longer."
"Excuse me?" I twist my head towards the sound. I look at the girl next to me but she just stares at me blankly.
"That was the TV… I think." She says after I ask her for Ritalin. She does not have any. And then she laughs at my joke that, "This party would be more interesting if we had Ritalin."
She agrees. She tugs at the lime green striped dress she is wearing. The dress is more like a long t-shirt than a skirt. The dress is tight. She has a nice body. I was surprised by a Martin's remark after he caught me staring at her long legs that, "she's had like 4 kids."
"But she's like 20." I found myself adapting the local language and adding "likes" to most any sentence.
"Unbelievable." The man on the TV and I respond.
Martin was getting antsy. He kept glancing over at the door that Jessie and Lester were behind. I knew it was only a matter of time before the door got kicked in.
Martin does not disappoint me. He got up and sat his drink down on the kitchen table. He then walked quickly over to the bedroom door and gave a mighty pull on it. He jiggled the lock and cursed. Then he raised his foot and kicked hard at the door knob.
A loud KERAAACK sound. But the door still stood. The knob was in place. The frame seemed resistant to his efforts. Martin placed two hands on the door knob and started pulling. That did not work either, so he started bumping the door with his shoulder. He put all his weight behind a last effort with his shoulder just as Lester from behind the door managed to swing the door open.
Martin's shoulder missed the door but his head did not miss the frame. He fell backwards after making a strange sound. Like he had the wind knocked out of him.
"Sorry, man." Lester said as he looked down at the crumpled body below him. A knot was already starting to show on Martin's forehead.
Martin sat down on a chair. He mumbled for the next few hours. In between mumbles he would place his head in his hands and fall forward off the chair. He would lower his head between his knees for a few minutes. Just long enough for me to begin to worry that I would have to get up and ask him if he was okay. Then just as I would stand up so would he and he would start to say something about being "good."
That was good. I needed Martin to live long enough for the buses to start running. After the buses got here and I was safely gone it would be someone else's fault if he died. I could imagine saying to the police officer, "he seemed fine while I was there."
Maybe I would only get charged with negligent homicide instead of manslaughter.
"If I went to prison." I told myself. "I would use my time wisely. I would learn how to be an arsonist and a murderer. I would join the counter culture."
"Great idea!" Echoed the guy on the TV. "Great idea!"
Read Part 1 of this post HERE!
They spit a bit into your ear when they tell you, "Plan for the worst. Things won't be getting better."
It's true. Life is shit. But that does not mean that everybody I know isn't better off than me. The spit mumbled narrative is not the story of "our" times. It's just the story of my life.
Martin had a plan to kill Lester.
The plan backfired. It ended in a sad ironic twist.
But before that Martin sat on the video game chair getting pissed. Not far from his line of vision a couple of cockroaches ran from the dishwasher to the cabinet. No one at the party noticed them. The cockroaches counted themselves lucky after they reached the safety of the dark food pantry.
There is a party going on but someone forgot to buy plastic cups, so we are all drinking out of dirty glasses. The host of the party is running around asking people if they have "seen any of her shot glasses." The party hosts also forgot to purchase toilet paper. There is a crate of empty beer cans and trash in the middle of the floor of the living room that we have to step around to get to the beer stored in the refrigerator.
An mp3 player is connected to a couple of computer speakers. The speakers strain to be heard over the noise of a half dozen teenagers getting drunk. The piles of damp towels on the floor in each of the bedrooms are beginning to mildew. The towel's eerie smell sticks to your goatee when you use them to dry off spilled beer.
Martin is upset that the door to Jessie's room is locked. He has tried unlocking the door, but the cheap apartment frame and the door's hollow particle board center are too much for him. The door remains securely locked. Whatever secrets the door has kept from Martin remain hidden.
Martin is drinking heavily. He has consumed one of the two bottles of Crown Royal purchased for the party by himself. I bought the Crown because it was on sale. Buy one get on free. I never knew how smooth Crown Royal was until I tried it at the party. Now I see why all the kids in the Ghetto enjoy it. You can't taste the liquor or the alcohol. All you taste is the Dr. Pepper you bought to mix it with.
The television is on. On the screen a man is talking behind a podium. There is a large red devil painted into the background of the podium. The man behind it is talking about Abbey Hoffman and the counter culture.
The party has gone through 3 cases of Budweiser in addition to a quart of vodka and the Crown Royal.
The man on the television is telling me it is okay to take money from yuppies. "Yuppies want to pretend they are part of the counter movement. Don't worry that's okay. We are ALL part of the movement."
I wonder if the man is talking about me. I wonder if I am counter culture because I am twice the age of the second oldest person here. I am not sure. I wonder if being old only makes me perverted. I begin to question my attendance at this party after I get a lap dance from an 18 year old girl who tells me, "She thinks of me as a father figure."
"You have a strange father." I tell her.
She lifts her shirt to show me her belly. She slowly grinds me. Her breasts nuzzle against me awkwardly. As soon as her breasts touch my face they stop. She falls forward off the chair and off of me to the ground. She laughs and runs back to the bedroom where Lester waits. Lester locks the door again and I think that's when Martin begins to think about killing Lester.
Martin and Jessie have a history. The history consists of Martin trying to conquer Jessie and failing. I can imagine why he is worried. All that hard work Martin has put in over the years has left Jessie vulnerable. Martin is fuming that Lester is going to take advantage of all of Martin's hard work.
"If you take Ritalin you will be able to stare at boring websites longer."
"Excuse me?" I twist my head towards the sound. I look at the girl next to me but she just stares at me blankly.
"That was the TV… I think." She says after I ask her for Ritalin. She does not have any. And then she laughs at my joke that, "This party would be more interesting if we had Ritalin."
She agrees. She tugs at the lime green striped dress she is wearing. The dress is more like a long t-shirt than a skirt. The dress is tight. She has a nice body. I was surprised by a Martin's remark after he caught me staring at her long legs that, "she's had like 4 kids."
"But she's like 20." I found myself adapting the local language and adding "likes" to most any sentence.
"Unbelievable." The man on the TV and I respond.
Martin was getting antsy. He kept glancing over at the door that Jessie and Lester were behind. I knew it was only a matter of time before the door got kicked in.
Martin does not disappoint me. He got up and sat his drink down on the kitchen table. He then walked quickly over to the bedroom door and gave a mighty pull on it. He jiggled the lock and cursed. Then he raised his foot and kicked hard at the door knob.
A loud KERAAACK sound. But the door still stood. The knob was in place. The frame seemed resistant to his efforts. Martin placed two hands on the door knob and started pulling. That did not work either, so he started bumping the door with his shoulder. He put all his weight behind a last effort with his shoulder just as Lester from behind the door managed to swing the door open.
Martin's shoulder missed the door but his head did not miss the frame. He fell backwards after making a strange sound. Like he had the wind knocked out of him.
"Sorry, man." Lester said as he looked down at the crumpled body below him. A knot was already starting to show on Martin's forehead.
Martin sat down on a chair. He mumbled for the next few hours. In between mumbles he would place his head in his hands and fall forward off the chair. He would lower his head between his knees for a few minutes. Just long enough for me to begin to worry that I would have to get up and ask him if he was okay. Then just as I would stand up so would he and he would start to say something about being "good."
That was good. I needed Martin to live long enough for the buses to start running. After the buses got here and I was safely gone it would be someone else's fault if he died. I could imagine saying to the police officer, "he seemed fine while I was there."
Maybe I would only get charged with negligent homicide instead of manslaughter.
"If I went to prison." I told myself. "I would use my time wisely. I would learn how to be an arsonist and a murderer. I would join the counter culture."
"Great idea!" Echoed the guy on the TV. "Great idea!"
Read Part 1 of this post HERE!
Wednesday, July 08, 2009
Last night my life was a lot like a tV action series only I drink beer and shit green peanuts
The morning after I still smell like stale beer. Like a half empty can of Schlitz malt liquor that has been left open all night.I sit at my computer in my underwear. I type into a search engine the words "Emma Watson panty slip." I look through the links for pictures. I tug at my flaccid penis until my ass begins to itch.
I go to the bathroom and wipe. I am curious to see what's down there. I look in the bowl and I see peanuts. The peanuts are covered with a moist green layer that looks a little like algae.
After I am done taking the shit I don't want to jack off anymore. So I take a shower.
My ingrown toe nail has decided to bleed out. There is blood all over my foot. I watch it run down the drain. Some of it is bright red. Most of the blood is black. It must have clotted last night when I jumped over the fence and ran to the liquor store.
We had to make a beer run last night. I outran my 18 year old BFF to the liquor store after she told me that the liquor store closes at 1:45 am. I think her large bosoms prevented her from keeping up with me.
The liquor store had police tape blocking off the entrance, though no dead bodies inside. Instead it had three guys with mops cleaning the floors.I yelled over at the black guy who I assumed was the liquor store attendant.
"Are you guys closed?"
"We close early every night. We close at 1:45." He answered back. The man grabbed a garden hose and began to shower the area in my direction with sprays of water. I think he wants me to keep back.
"I know that." I told him. I was still shouting at him, because I wanted him to hear me over the sounds of the water hitting the cement drive way.
"I know you close at 1:45." I glance down at my cell phone. The display blinks at me. It says 1:40.
"Did you close early today?" I ask. My voice trails off. I am out of breath from the run from the apartment. I am worried that I not going to get any more beer, and my BFF just invited Lester to come over and party with us.
Lester is a redneck who wears cowboy hats. I assume rednecks drink a lot. Unless Lester is a gay redneck. Gay rednecks don't drink beer. They drink Gatorade and they offer to smoke meth with you in the bathroom. Then they argue the merits of calling nine year old boys "Manginas" vs. "ManPussy" with you.
"So you closed early tonight?" This is mostly a rhetorical question. My brain is still bouncing in my skull from the run. I just wanted to clarify the events. I did not mean to say anything to antagonize anyone.
"We close early EVERY night!"
He uses the garden hose to punctuate the ending of every word. The water leaps out in giant arcs. If the sun was out you would have confused his efforts to clean the drive way with making rainbows.
"But it is not 1:45 yet!" I tell him.
This time I meant to antagonize him. I am far enough away from him that I figure he can't get a good look at me and so he won't remember me. And if he decides to chase after me I have a good enough head start. I am fast. Much faster that I look. The 18 year old girl who ran with me to the store is just coming down the side walk. She hides in the shadows of the brick wall so as not to get caught trying to buy beer with me. Her eyes stare wide open at me. She is watching me get pissed off for the first time.
It's been a long time since I got pissed off enough at someone to yell at them. I go years without a good cathartic scream fest.
"We close early EVERY night!" He yells.
Now the guy is just trying to piss me off.
"I get that! I know that you close every night at 1:45. Only the time is FUCKING 1:40. You see?? So that's why I am asking…I mean WHAT THE FUCK… DO I LOOK LIKE SOME KIND OF FUCKING IDIOT?"
I walk off.
I turn my head and scream back at him, "WHAT THE FUCK, MAN?"
"Did you hear that, Jessie?"
"Fuck ya!" Her eyes were full of admiration. "That was awesome!" "I've never seen you go off on anyone like that!"
"I know."
We still need to get beer.
"I know another store where we can get beer." Jessica volunteers.
"Can we make it?"
"If we run."
I think she means if I run we will make it.
"Let's go."
As we walk to the next store Jessica tells me how she gets hit on by lesbians a lot. I think it's because she looks EMO when she wears mascara. I tell Jessica that I think EMO chicks are hot.
"If you weren't young enough to be my daughter…" I leave the sentence hanging.
"You would what?" She asks. "I thought you were going to finish that statement."
I just shrug my shoulders.
"When I first met you..." She remembers. "I thought you were cool. I hoped you had a son. If you did I would have dated him."
"What if he was 14?" I asked.
"We'd work around it."
I stop walking.
"Pervert!" I mock accuse her.
"I know." She laughs. "Four years. That's gross."
So I guess 20 years would not be okay then. I decide to change the subject.
"Lester is in love with you."
"No he's not!"
Yes he is.
"I can't see why else a guy would walk three miles at 2 in the morning to meet you on a random Tuesday."
We are almost to the other store. I see the lights are dimmed. The store is closed and now we will have to walk even further to the gas station. The time is 1:55. I look over at Jessica and mumble something about Keifer Sutherland and start jogging.
I need a shortcut. I see a fence. I hop over the lowest part of the fence that separates the sidewalk and the gas station. I run some more and make it to the store just as the door is about to close. The cashier tells me I have 30 seconds.
I grab the first 24 pack I can get my hands on. Busch beer. Jessica is stunned by my performance. Jessica tells me she is going to alter her facebook to add me as a hero. "For running like a bitch to get beer."
We walk back towards the apartment that Jessica shares with two roommates. We walk by a Camaro that has two hot Mexican girls in the backseat. I point them out to Jessica. I tell her that "if the girls are lesbians that will be ok because we both have Bush."
"You see I am carrying a case of Busch beer." I point at the 24 pack of beer I am holding. Then for extra giggles I point at Jessica's vagina.
She laughs and runs off to meet Lester who is walking towards us carrying a 32 ounce Lemon lime Gatorade.
Go read part 2.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
I review Harry's Last Call a bar in Phoenix where I met up with my exgf and her new Baby Daddy
The first thing you should know about Harry's Last Call in Phoenix is that your pussy ass should not go there. This is a REAL dive bar and not a FAKE dive bar that caters to your hipster irony. If you bring in any of that fucking hipster attitude into this bar I will help the homeless guy nursing his Bud Light on the stool next to me kick your ass. We will leave you bleeding, and the homeless guy will take a piss on you, and someone may cut you. AND THEN YOU WILL GET AIDS motherfucker.
I am just saying.
I am not going to take your side, because this is not your place, and you have been warned. If you still want to go there the pool table takes quarters and it costs 75 cents a game.
The beer is cheap, but that is because the draft does not work. It just tumbles out at the bartender (my exgf so take your fucking hands off her) and spills all over her and she will ask if she can get you a Bud Light bottle because she hates fucking with the draft.
The bar looks deserted as you drive in. There are no cars outside. But that is typical if you are at a real dive bar as opposed to the fake bars you drive to. Real homeless people are drunks and so they can't afford cars, or they never learned how to drive, or they have 6 DUI's so the cops took their license and their vehicles away. So it is no real surprise that the bar has 7 people milling around the front entrance.
I askew using the back entrance because I have no idea at first if this is the bar I am supposed to be going to, or if I have ended up at the wrong bar. (A dirty bar with homeless people and crazy Native Americans who guard the entrance.)
I know some people like to make fun of the fact that Natives drink a lot, but you will never see me do that. Probably because I am one fourth Cherokee. Anyway, I don't think Natives drink that much. I am pretty sure that all the Natives I see drinking in bars are not really different Indians, but the same Indian guy. Because everywhere I go I see the same drunk Native dude on the stool closest to the entrance.
He never sits with his back against the wall. And he always invites me over to share his warm small pitcher of beer. He winks at me and when I walk over he pulls out his pocket knife. He does that trick every time. Then he winks at me again and complains aloud to anyone who will listen that he needs to find the Indian bar on 16th street and he needs money for another drink.
Mostly I ignore him and hope he really does not want to kill a fellow Native American. I have no idea what they do in his tribe, but my tribe does not kill the Red Man. Just whitey.
When I approached the entrance I noticed a girl who I assumed to be the bartender. I look closer at her and I realize that she is my EXGF. She is standing next to a rather tall and goofy looking half-black dude who I can tell from his myspace profile must be the exGF's newest baby daddy.
It is not very often that my appearance somewhere will startle people, or make them jump. By my showing up here does. My Ex looks likes she is ready to swallow pills. Her eyes are jumpy and she excitedly runs at me to introduce "baby daddy" to me. Home boy gives me a hand shake and I tell him it was nice to finally meet him. I tell him that I bet he has heard all kinds of shit about me and he says he has heard only, "good things." he says "nice things" like all begrudging like somehow it is my fault that I am nice guy and he walked out on a woman with two kids and no job.
I keep wanting to tell him to stay away from the white women, but mostly we don't talk. He offers to play a game of pool with me. He wins the game, but only by one ball. We both take a long time to finish the game and he admits "that we suck."
I order a couple of beers from my exgf. She stays busy talking to her customers and she stops by every once and a while. I tell her how I think the bar is unsafe and she confides to me that she bought mace.
" I have no idea if mace would even work against the brutes in this place." I scold her.
I play UFO and Trapeze on the Internet Jukebox. just for shits and giggles I play some Kelly Clarckson. Some drunk comes in and orders a drink. He pays in quarters. He says he was "just in a fight and the cops are on their way here. " At least the cops are coming. I think to myself.
The cops show up and they are being cool. The cop does not walk into the bar. He stays out on the front entrance like he and the homeless vermin who inhabit this bar have some kind of special agreement. He just asks to talk to the guy who was in the fight. The guy drinking the jack and cola walks out calm and cool. He doesn't even put up a fight.
In my pocket is the lottery ticket I purchased for this weeks drawing. I am potentially worth 186 million dollars. I should leave before something happens and I get stabbed. The baby daddy is most likely upset that I am here, but he has not started anything with me. In fact he seems cordial and shit. I guess it true what they say. We are polite to strangers. Cruel to those we love.
I showed up to the bar at 10. It was midnight and I did not want to wait around all night if baby daddy was going to be there. He would make sure the ex lived through the night. She was not my responsibility anyway.
I stopped by another bar on the way home. I should have guessed by the name "Cruising 7th street" that the bar was a gay bar, but since I don't know a lot about gays -the way you do- I had no idea until it was too late that I had stepped right into the gayest bar in town.
I had to use the restroom. I know going to the restroom in a gay bar is not the brightest idea, but the whole reason I stopped at the bar in the first place was because I had to go pee. Cruising has two bars separated by rest rooms. After locking the stall door and peeing I heard what I thought was singing from the other side of the bar.
It turns out there where a bunch of drag queens Lip-syncing to music full of double entendres .
A few of the drag queens tried hitting on me, but I guess they did not try very hard. I ended up leaving after the drag show (which consisted of one dude with a stuffed bra singing over the radio and getting tipped a few dollars by a couple of horny gay guys) finally ended.
I am just saying.
I am not going to take your side, because this is not your place, and you have been warned. If you still want to go there the pool table takes quarters and it costs 75 cents a game.
The beer is cheap, but that is because the draft does not work. It just tumbles out at the bartender (my exgf so take your fucking hands off her) and spills all over her and she will ask if she can get you a Bud Light bottle because she hates fucking with the draft.
The bar looks deserted as you drive in. There are no cars outside. But that is typical if you are at a real dive bar as opposed to the fake bars you drive to. Real homeless people are drunks and so they can't afford cars, or they never learned how to drive, or they have 6 DUI's so the cops took their license and their vehicles away. So it is no real surprise that the bar has 7 people milling around the front entrance.
I askew using the back entrance because I have no idea at first if this is the bar I am supposed to be going to, or if I have ended up at the wrong bar. (A dirty bar with homeless people and crazy Native Americans who guard the entrance.)
I know some people like to make fun of the fact that Natives drink a lot, but you will never see me do that. Probably because I am one fourth Cherokee. Anyway, I don't think Natives drink that much. I am pretty sure that all the Natives I see drinking in bars are not really different Indians, but the same Indian guy. Because everywhere I go I see the same drunk Native dude on the stool closest to the entrance.
He never sits with his back against the wall. And he always invites me over to share his warm small pitcher of beer. He winks at me and when I walk over he pulls out his pocket knife. He does that trick every time. Then he winks at me again and complains aloud to anyone who will listen that he needs to find the Indian bar on 16th street and he needs money for another drink.
Mostly I ignore him and hope he really does not want to kill a fellow Native American. I have no idea what they do in his tribe, but my tribe does not kill the Red Man. Just whitey.
When I approached the entrance I noticed a girl who I assumed to be the bartender. I look closer at her and I realize that she is my EXGF. She is standing next to a rather tall and goofy looking half-black dude who I can tell from his myspace profile must be the exGF's newest baby daddy.
It is not very often that my appearance somewhere will startle people, or make them jump. By my showing up here does. My Ex looks likes she is ready to swallow pills. Her eyes are jumpy and she excitedly runs at me to introduce "baby daddy" to me. Home boy gives me a hand shake and I tell him it was nice to finally meet him. I tell him that I bet he has heard all kinds of shit about me and he says he has heard only, "good things." he says "nice things" like all begrudging like somehow it is my fault that I am nice guy and he walked out on a woman with two kids and no job.
I keep wanting to tell him to stay away from the white women, but mostly we don't talk. He offers to play a game of pool with me. He wins the game, but only by one ball. We both take a long time to finish the game and he admits "that we suck."
I order a couple of beers from my exgf. She stays busy talking to her customers and she stops by every once and a while. I tell her how I think the bar is unsafe and she confides to me that she bought mace.
" I have no idea if mace would even work against the brutes in this place." I scold her.
I play UFO and Trapeze on the Internet Jukebox. just for shits and giggles I play some Kelly Clarckson. Some drunk comes in and orders a drink. He pays in quarters. He says he was "just in a fight and the cops are on their way here. " At least the cops are coming. I think to myself.
The cops show up and they are being cool. The cop does not walk into the bar. He stays out on the front entrance like he and the homeless vermin who inhabit this bar have some kind of special agreement. He just asks to talk to the guy who was in the fight. The guy drinking the jack and cola walks out calm and cool. He doesn't even put up a fight.
In my pocket is the lottery ticket I purchased for this weeks drawing. I am potentially worth 186 million dollars. I should leave before something happens and I get stabbed. The baby daddy is most likely upset that I am here, but he has not started anything with me. In fact he seems cordial and shit. I guess it true what they say. We are polite to strangers. Cruel to those we love.
I showed up to the bar at 10. It was midnight and I did not want to wait around all night if baby daddy was going to be there. He would make sure the ex lived through the night. She was not my responsibility anyway.
I stopped by another bar on the way home. I should have guessed by the name "Cruising 7th street" that the bar was a gay bar, but since I don't know a lot about gays -the way you do- I had no idea until it was too late that I had stepped right into the gayest bar in town.
I had to use the restroom. I know going to the restroom in a gay bar is not the brightest idea, but the whole reason I stopped at the bar in the first place was because I had to go pee. Cruising has two bars separated by rest rooms. After locking the stall door and peeing I heard what I thought was singing from the other side of the bar.
It turns out there where a bunch of drag queens Lip-syncing to music full of double entendres .
A few of the drag queens tried hitting on me, but I guess they did not try very hard. I ended up leaving after the drag show (which consisted of one dude with a stuffed bra singing over the radio and getting tipped a few dollars by a couple of horny gay guys) finally ended.
Monday, January 05, 2009
Best Week Ever
I get suspended from Work!
I wanted to start the New Year off with a bang. I guess that is why I ended up getting suspended from work. I am off for the next three days. I bet you are wondering why such a good worker got suspended. If you are wondering then you don't pay any attention to what you read. I told you guys a while back that a check got lost while I was working at customer service.
I did not say I lost it. I have no idea what happened to the check. All I know is that when my boss reviewed the DVR tape she could not tell what happened to the check. I don't see how that is possible. I had the check. She saw me "frank" it. She just can't tell what I did with the check afterwards.
Personally I think that shit sounds suspect. You see clearly what is going on...then all of a sudden nothing is clear? I refuse to take responsibility for the things I know I do wrong. I have a real hard time coming to understand anything where neither party is sure what happened. But since my drawer was short over 200 dollars because of the missing check I get a 3 day suspension.
Suspensions in the retail industry are nothing to worry about. Normally that is. I got suspended for having 4 tardies last year. It is just how the grocery business works. Personally, I think it kind of stupid. But that is just my take on things.
The only thing about it is that a friend at work (the dude who wants to go 4 wheeling) told me how every single 3 day suspension he has ever seen has ended with a person getting fired. That freaked me out a little obviously, because I don't make a dime off this website despite the fact that you won't find the kind of entertainment you find here anywhere else in the world. I mean I podcasts, TV for the Internet, my radio station, 3 blogs. I give and I give to you people. I get nothing but the occasional comment about how brilliant I am and usually that is enough to keep me going. Of course if I lose my job I will be homeless for real, because I am sure Card Shark's wife won't want to give up the spare bedroom to rescue a homeless bum.
I can't say I blame her as bums stink and use a lot of toilet paper as they are not used to being able to wipe their ass and whenever you let a homeless person inside to use your "facilities" expect them to steal all your toilet paper and aspirin. Even if the the homeless person is really just some under age post hippie "Mill Rat" which is a term we use around here for young white people who purposefully live on the street or take to wearing the same clothes everyday and begging for change in downtown Tempe. Some guy wrote an online book about a mill ave rat who is some kind of super hero. You can read it here.
My Ingrown Toe still hurts. I get accosted in a bathroom. I get hit on by a chick. I get cock blocked by the X-man.
I think it has been a week now but my ingrown toe still hurts. It is still infected. Luckily I added a bump to the head to even things out. I was in the bathroom stall at Casey Moore's when the door flew open and hit me in the head. If you know Casey Moore's then you know that the door is made of god damn steel and you know the place is supposed to be inhabited by a ghost. Do the math.
I still got hit on by chick when we checked out the Time Out bar. The TimeOut bar is a hipster heaven. My friends and I were the only people in the bar without makeup, tattoos, or body piercings. I guess we are original like that.
We played pool. Me, X-Man, and his brother. His brother looks a lot like Jesus. I always suggest that Jesus start a cult. He never wants to.
I was checking my email while the brothers played pool. Some girl walks over to me and gets in my personal space. She tells me, "Whatever you are looking at must be interesting." I guess she feels that being in hipster heaven is good enough for her. But looking at a bunch of posers and wanna be's gets boring and my friends can't play pool for shit. It's actually kinda embarrassing how bad we are at pool. And anyway sometimes I get e-mail that tells me how great a writer I am and I love getting that e-mail more than I love hooking up with fat bitches, and y'all know I live to hook up with fat chicks.
This girl is skinny though. She has bleached hair. She is drunk out of her mind. She wants to know if my e-mail is for work. I wonder how many people at hipster dive bar have blackberries that go off on the half hour reminding them to get that graphic design in before the deadline or their shit is canned. "I think all hipsters are graphic designers." I tell her. I am full of theories.
The e-mail is a notification from YouTube that someone has subscribed to my YouTube videos. I am fucking shocked by that. I had no idea anyone ever watched those. I was happy. She wanted to see my video so I showed her the video of the crazy talking pencil who is "not thinking about vagina!" She could not hear the video over the crowd noise and my on the spot impression voice over did not make her laugh.
COCKBLOCKERY
Just as I am closing the video the X man walks over. He is having issues since he has not gotten laid much. He starts fights now in Scottsdale. He introduces himself and gets the name of the chick. Aurora. "Like the car." Thankfully, I keep that thought to myself. I run out of beer and decide to get another beer. I thought I was making a point for me and the chick to go get a beer and get a away from X. She is too drunk for subtlety. She walks off. I get a beer and X man gets a phone number. He asked and she handed out the digits like they were free or something.
X defends his thugishness in the car. He calls me a pussy. He say it took him only 10 seconds to get the digits. I remind him that she walked up to me and that he was not a good wing man. A good wing man does not swoop down and prey on the drunk and weak. He works to get his "boy" laid. X just wants to talk about how is going to end up killing people at McDonald's if he can't get laid. I tell him about She Male prostitutes on Van Buren. For 10 dollars they can take care of that problem. "But that chick was hot!"
"That ain't no defense, man." I tell him. "So you are a good friend and wing man unless the chick is hot?"
We get more beer and head back to my place. Jesus calls his go go dancing girlfriend. Her name is Sara and she wears boots that look like the are made of fur. She looks cute and she enjoys drinking bottles of my Balatore Rose Champagne. We play 3 man (the dice game).
Sara makes a rule after rolling three doubles. Anytime a player rolls a 6 they have to drink 6 shots. That rule is fucked up. We are getting hammered now.
After a few hours I kick aside the music of hip hop that my gangster friends like. Then I make a discovery of EPIC PROPORTIONS. Sara LOVES my favorite rock band of ALL TIME. Sara loves UFO!
I think I just met my dream girl. A go-go dancer who drinks bottles of Cheap champagne and loves UFO. "This girls is awesome!" I exclaim to Jesus. "Marry this girl! Right now!" I demand. I don't think Jesus wants to marry her. Jesus hates 70's music. I see myself in 5 years married to Sara with our kids being second generation UFO fans. The idea makes me want to cry. "I love Sara." I tell Jesus. "I can believe I met a girl that likes UFO." Neither of my friends can believe it either. Jesus wants to dump Sara just because she likes UFO. But first he takes her back to her place, or more likely she takes him back to her place. I bet they are going home to fuck. Even though Jesus won't marry her. Even though Jesus hates UFO.
GOD MUST BE PUNISHING ME
Since God is punishing me I have decided to go CHURCH. Tuesday I will attend the services of Bob Larson. Bob is a demon chaser. Bob performs exorcism. I new a guy who worked with me that now works for Bob. That shit is crazy. I plan on taking a few friends down and checking it out. I plan a post tomorrow. I have posted some videos about BOB (his TV show on the SCIfi Network over at Bathos.
I wanted to start the New Year off with a bang. I guess that is why I ended up getting suspended from work. I am off for the next three days. I bet you are wondering why such a good worker got suspended. If you are wondering then you don't pay any attention to what you read. I told you guys a while back that a check got lost while I was working at customer service.
I did not say I lost it. I have no idea what happened to the check. All I know is that when my boss reviewed the DVR tape she could not tell what happened to the check. I don't see how that is possible. I had the check. She saw me "frank" it. She just can't tell what I did with the check afterwards.
Personally I think that shit sounds suspect. You see clearly what is going on...then all of a sudden nothing is clear? I refuse to take responsibility for the things I know I do wrong. I have a real hard time coming to understand anything where neither party is sure what happened. But since my drawer was short over 200 dollars because of the missing check I get a 3 day suspension.
Suspensions in the retail industry are nothing to worry about. Normally that is. I got suspended for having 4 tardies last year. It is just how the grocery business works. Personally, I think it kind of stupid. But that is just my take on things.
The only thing about it is that a friend at work (the dude who wants to go 4 wheeling) told me how every single 3 day suspension he has ever seen has ended with a person getting fired. That freaked me out a little obviously, because I don't make a dime off this website despite the fact that you won't find the kind of entertainment you find here anywhere else in the world. I mean I podcasts, TV for the Internet, my radio station, 3 blogs. I give and I give to you people. I get nothing but the occasional comment about how brilliant I am and usually that is enough to keep me going. Of course if I lose my job I will be homeless for real, because I am sure Card Shark's wife won't want to give up the spare bedroom to rescue a homeless bum.
I can't say I blame her as bums stink and use a lot of toilet paper as they are not used to being able to wipe their ass and whenever you let a homeless person inside to use your "facilities" expect them to steal all your toilet paper and aspirin. Even if the the homeless person is really just some under age post hippie "Mill Rat" which is a term we use around here for young white people who purposefully live on the street or take to wearing the same clothes everyday and begging for change in downtown Tempe. Some guy wrote an online book about a mill ave rat who is some kind of super hero. You can read it here.
My Ingrown Toe still hurts. I get accosted in a bathroom. I get hit on by a chick. I get cock blocked by the X-man.
I think it has been a week now but my ingrown toe still hurts. It is still infected. Luckily I added a bump to the head to even things out. I was in the bathroom stall at Casey Moore's when the door flew open and hit me in the head. If you know Casey Moore's then you know that the door is made of god damn steel and you know the place is supposed to be inhabited by a ghost. Do the math.
I still got hit on by chick when we checked out the Time Out bar. The TimeOut bar is a hipster heaven. My friends and I were the only people in the bar without makeup, tattoos, or body piercings. I guess we are original like that.
We played pool. Me, X-Man, and his brother. His brother looks a lot like Jesus. I always suggest that Jesus start a cult. He never wants to.
I was checking my email while the brothers played pool. Some girl walks over to me and gets in my personal space. She tells me, "Whatever you are looking at must be interesting." I guess she feels that being in hipster heaven is good enough for her. But looking at a bunch of posers and wanna be's gets boring and my friends can't play pool for shit. It's actually kinda embarrassing how bad we are at pool. And anyway sometimes I get e-mail that tells me how great a writer I am and I love getting that e-mail more than I love hooking up with fat bitches, and y'all know I live to hook up with fat chicks.
This girl is skinny though. She has bleached hair. She is drunk out of her mind. She wants to know if my e-mail is for work. I wonder how many people at hipster dive bar have blackberries that go off on the half hour reminding them to get that graphic design in before the deadline or their shit is canned. "I think all hipsters are graphic designers." I tell her. I am full of theories.
The e-mail is a notification from YouTube that someone has subscribed to my YouTube videos. I am fucking shocked by that. I had no idea anyone ever watched those. I was happy. She wanted to see my video so I showed her the video of the crazy talking pencil who is "not thinking about vagina!" She could not hear the video over the crowd noise and my on the spot impression voice over did not make her laugh.
COCKBLOCKERY
Just as I am closing the video the X man walks over. He is having issues since he has not gotten laid much. He starts fights now in Scottsdale. He introduces himself and gets the name of the chick. Aurora. "Like the car." Thankfully, I keep that thought to myself. I run out of beer and decide to get another beer. I thought I was making a point for me and the chick to go get a beer and get a away from X. She is too drunk for subtlety. She walks off. I get a beer and X man gets a phone number. He asked and she handed out the digits like they were free or something.
X defends his thugishness in the car. He calls me a pussy. He say it took him only 10 seconds to get the digits. I remind him that she walked up to me and that he was not a good wing man. A good wing man does not swoop down and prey on the drunk and weak. He works to get his "boy" laid. X just wants to talk about how is going to end up killing people at McDonald's if he can't get laid. I tell him about She Male prostitutes on Van Buren. For 10 dollars they can take care of that problem. "But that chick was hot!"
"That ain't no defense, man." I tell him. "So you are a good friend and wing man unless the chick is hot?"
We get more beer and head back to my place. Jesus calls his go go dancing girlfriend. Her name is Sara and she wears boots that look like the are made of fur. She looks cute and she enjoys drinking bottles of my Balatore Rose Champagne. We play 3 man (the dice game).
Sara makes a rule after rolling three doubles. Anytime a player rolls a 6 they have to drink 6 shots. That rule is fucked up. We are getting hammered now.
After a few hours I kick aside the music of hip hop that my gangster friends like. Then I make a discovery of EPIC PROPORTIONS. Sara LOVES my favorite rock band of ALL TIME. Sara loves UFO!
I think I just met my dream girl. A go-go dancer who drinks bottles of Cheap champagne and loves UFO. "This girls is awesome!" I exclaim to Jesus. "Marry this girl! Right now!" I demand. I don't think Jesus wants to marry her. Jesus hates 70's music. I see myself in 5 years married to Sara with our kids being second generation UFO fans. The idea makes me want to cry. "I love Sara." I tell Jesus. "I can believe I met a girl that likes UFO." Neither of my friends can believe it either. Jesus wants to dump Sara just because she likes UFO. But first he takes her back to her place, or more likely she takes him back to her place. I bet they are going home to fuck. Even though Jesus won't marry her. Even though Jesus hates UFO.
GOD MUST BE PUNISHING ME
Since God is punishing me I have decided to go CHURCH. Tuesday I will attend the services of Bob Larson. Bob is a demon chaser. Bob performs exorcism. I new a guy who worked with me that now works for Bob. That shit is crazy. I plan on taking a few friends down and checking it out. I plan a post tomorrow. I have posted some videos about BOB (his TV show on the SCIfi Network over at Bathos.
Monday, October 27, 2008
I end the long conversation over the bra found in my courtyard so I can get back to blogging
I don't have a phone. I am waiting on the FED EX guy to deliver my new cell phone. In the meantime, I must have pissed off my old phone carrier. They shut my pay-as-you-go phone down even though I have like 20 dollars left in the account. I guess I won't get that money back, but I will get to keep my old phone number which is really convenient for you if you are an ex stalker g/f of mine, or you met me on the internet and talked me into giving you my phone number.
I've been real busy this week. I attended a high school play put on by one of my co-workers. She promoted the The Miss Firecracker Contest at work by leaving posters by the time clock and by telling anyone who would listen that she was in a play. I guess she hoped that people at work would want to support her and the local high school by attending the play and shelling out the $3 for admission.
She would be wrong. No one cared and no one went to see her play other than me and two other dudes from work. One of the guys who went is a nice guy, but "Dairy Guy" and me are just perverts and the only reason I went to see the play was that I heard it was a bit "racy" for a high school play.
The play was Saturday night and I was tired after getting off work at 6:45. The play started in under an hour and I barely had time to go home and change out of my work uniform and make it back to the play. I considered blowing the whole thing off, but since I am a man of my word (I so seldom give it out is the only reason you cannot call me a flake) I decided to go ahead and attend.I felt good about myself on the drive over to my old Alma Matter. I told a person they could count on me showing up and then I went ahead and showed up. I was not just some lame 30 year old with no money and no future. I was a person you could count on.
Once I got to the play I was more than pleased with myself for being responsible. Only a few people attended the play. I counted almost no parents in the audience. Just a few friends of the people who were actually in the play. The play had only 6 cast members so you can see that the audience was quite tiny.
The lead actress in the play quite good. She has the dramatic over sell that is needed on the stage. My only complaint is that I am going deaf and I could not hear some of the lines. Only the featured actress really managed to project her voice. The rest of the cast forgot that they were not miked up. I should mention that the acting is way better than the acting in the video that I found and tried to embed on this post.
The play features several cuss words. The main character talks about how she slept around and got syphilis. The play also features several on stage costume changes that the hebophile in me really appreciated. I was in jail bait heaven.
The actress was very good looking and if I did not mention it before I should have. The lead actress has a firm dancers body. She wore high heels and dresses throughout the performance. The dresses hung on her the way a dress is supposed to hang on a women. There is a reason men design dresses for a certain body type. When you see the way a dress can hang on a young tight body in heels, you realize those designers are creating art. I now understand why most designers seethe with anger when asked to make a size 12 flatter.
I should mention the camel toe because the lead actress had to wear spandex and leotards for the first 2 scenes of the play. I should also mention that someone should teach teen girls how to sit and maneuver on stage in a dress because if you go all Britney Spears and flash your panties I can't be expected to look away even if the mother of said actresses are seated behind me and find my constant squinting and seat changes to be "noticeably without decorum." Fuck you. I paid my three dollars, and I am going to get my monies worth.
I wanted to let you to know that I am done talking to the X-Man about the bra he found in the courtyard of my condo.
I promise there is a connection to the first part of this story and the second part about the bra.
I've been real busy this week. I attended a high school play put on by one of my co-workers. She promoted the The Miss Firecracker Contest at work by leaving posters by the time clock and by telling anyone who would listen that she was in a play. I guess she hoped that people at work would want to support her and the local high school by attending the play and shelling out the $3 for admission.
She would be wrong. No one cared and no one went to see her play other than me and two other dudes from work. One of the guys who went is a nice guy, but "Dairy Guy" and me are just perverts and the only reason I went to see the play was that I heard it was a bit "racy" for a high school play.
The play was Saturday night and I was tired after getting off work at 6:45. The play started in under an hour and I barely had time to go home and change out of my work uniform and make it back to the play. I considered blowing the whole thing off, but since I am a man of my word (I so seldom give it out is the only reason you cannot call me a flake) I decided to go ahead and attend.I felt good about myself on the drive over to my old Alma Matter. I told a person they could count on me showing up and then I went ahead and showed up. I was not just some lame 30 year old with no money and no future. I was a person you could count on.
Once I got to the play I was more than pleased with myself for being responsible. Only a few people attended the play. I counted almost no parents in the audience. Just a few friends of the people who were actually in the play. The play had only 6 cast members so you can see that the audience was quite tiny.
The lead actress in the play quite good. She has the dramatic over sell that is needed on the stage. My only complaint is that I am going deaf and I could not hear some of the lines. Only the featured actress really managed to project her voice. The rest of the cast forgot that they were not miked up. I should mention that the acting is way better than the acting in the video that I found and tried to embed on this post.
The play features several cuss words. The main character talks about how she slept around and got syphilis. The play also features several on stage costume changes that the hebophile in me really appreciated. I was in jail bait heaven.
The actress was very good looking and if I did not mention it before I should have. The lead actress has a firm dancers body. She wore high heels and dresses throughout the performance. The dresses hung on her the way a dress is supposed to hang on a women. There is a reason men design dresses for a certain body type. When you see the way a dress can hang on a young tight body in heels, you realize those designers are creating art. I now understand why most designers seethe with anger when asked to make a size 12 flatter.
I should mention the camel toe because the lead actress had to wear spandex and leotards for the first 2 scenes of the play. I should also mention that someone should teach teen girls how to sit and maneuver on stage in a dress because if you go all Britney Spears and flash your panties I can't be expected to look away even if the mother of said actresses are seated behind me and find my constant squinting and seat changes to be "noticeably without decorum." Fuck you. I paid my three dollars, and I am going to get my monies worth.
I wanted to let you to know that I am done talking to the X-Man about the bra he found in the courtyard of my condo.
I promise there is a connection to the first part of this story and the second part about the bra.
Like I said, I don't have a phone (here is the connection) right now. I guess Card Shark and the X-Man decided they wanted to hang out with me on Saturday. Since my phone is turned off they thought I was being an asshole by not calling them back. I was just busy watching a play and not having cell phone service.
After the play I went home and got online and read a few blogs. I did not have much time to read or blog (much less look at porn) before I heard a knock at the door. My two funny friends covered up the peep hole because they are seriously funny. I have no idea why they think that could fool me. The only people who cover the peep hole are cops and your drunk friends.
My friends showed up with Tecate and we started drinking beer. We went to the college bar where I drink alone at. I was hoping some of the staff would remember me and remember in the future when I sit alone at the bar that I have friends and I am not some kind of weirdo who should be avoided, but instead they should try and set me up with some of the hotties that frequent the bar.
We sat outside so Card Shark could smoke. I sat in the one chair that had no view of the action going on. I got pissed at myself for "always fucking myself" by sitting at the seat without a clear view of the action. Instead of sitting miserably with no view I got up and sat directly opposite of where I was sitting. I looked over a table full of college girls and spoke. "Don't worry, I just came to look. I won't bother you."
I think the girls were relieved.
We got treated to some full on XMAN with his XMAN craziness. He did his now world famous "I am staring at you in the face with as much intensity as I can to denote to you my truthful seriousness of the matter that I am speaking to you about."
I told x that he had all the seriousness of an infomercial and that the reason he fell for cults all the time was that he actually was serious and that he really believed all the crazy stuff he says and he agreed with me that his entire ideology was that of a self help guru infomercial. I thought I won the point on that debate but X just sat back smugly in his chair with an air of satisfaction.
Before 2 am I went to buy beer at the local gas station. We marched back to the condo prepared to drink till dawn and pass out at teh condo. The gang decided not to drink and drive because between us we have 5 D.U.I. convictions. "My friends have so grown up," I thought.
That was until Jesus showed up. Jesus is the x_man's brother. He got off work and called to ask if he could come over. When he showed up at the condo he carried with him a bra.
The bra was black. It belonged to the Victoria's Secret collection. Jesus smelled the bra several times in front of us. He said he could not ascertain whether the bra was new or not. He said he could not smell any body odor or perfume on the bra. What followed was like a transcript from one of those CSI programs that all you watch. We looked over the bra's size and determined the cup status. Double A.
"That means she had small tits." Jesus offered.
"And the cups have padding, so obviously this girl is trying to fool potential mates about he size of her breasts."
I am not proud of that observation, but I made it. And I report it to you because that is what I do. I report facts. YOU decide.
A number of explanations were offered forth on why a bra would be lying in the courtyard of the condo. Maybe a couple was going "at it" and forgot to retrieve the bra after an amorous encounter. I suggested that the bra fell out of a bag because it smelled like acetate and not people. In addition, the bra had the remnants of a plastic tag on it.
Jesus pronounced that, "No woman would wear a bra with a tag, it would be to uncomfortable!" I heartily seconded the point and it was soon agreed by all that the bra's owner had never worn the object. Once we decided that the bra had never touched a woman's skin (leaving in our opinion the distinctively likely explanation that the bra belonged to a blow up doll) we had our fill with the days events and called it a night.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Did you notice that I am back to posting? I teach you things about lingerie bars.
You never notice anything. Like how I am back to posting after taking a break. I bet you didn't even miss me that much until you started reading me again and then you remembered how boring your lives were and how pathetic most every other blog you read is and how you only link to those blogs in order to increase your traffic because you are addicted to the attention you think you are getting from people who stop by your site for 0 second and then move on to porn sites where they can indulge their bizarre polish girl sex fantasies.
I got invited to a BBQ today from a friend at work. The texts message indicated that no hard liquor will be consumed and no drama is allowed. I guess dinner parties for teenagers are different than dinner parties for adults. Adults like drama and hard liquor because it gives us an excuse to do the things teens do when they are sober. If I end up going to this party it will be to continue gathering my drinking experiences to put in my book.
Speaking of food, I am considering eating a sausage biscuit for breakfast even though the last time I ate one of these walmart frozen sausage patties I had the runs and a terrible case of gas. I go to work in a few hours, so I sure hope that pattern does not repeat itself, because I ate the patty anyway. I am taking the chance on a bad case of diarrhea because I spent 4 dollars on 30 spicy sausage patties and I don't just want to throw them away on the chance that the patties defrosted in the walmart freezer before I bought them, and are now simply the breeding ground for some anti-biotic resistant strain of microbe that the government planted in sausage patties to reduce the population mass that votes for Obama, because we all know black people love biscuits and gravy.
I should probably go ahead and finish the update from yesterday for you guys on my drinking last night, not that it was really exciting. I was reading one of the free magazines Palo Verde offers to its patrons instead of easy women, entertainment, or good times, and I discovered that Arizona has another lingerie bar. I was a regular at the only other lingerie bar before Mayor Phil Gordon incurred my wrath and lost my vote by shutting down the bar. In case you don't know what a lingerie bar is, a lingerie bar is a bar where the wait staff all dress in lingerie.
What is so great about a lingerie bar anyway?
Class. A lingerie bar is way classier than a nudie bar. And cheaper to boot. You don't have to pay for lap dances and the girls get to keep their dignity by keeping their clothes on. The lat lingerie bar I went to had cheap beer specials too. I remember being astounded one day when I got to the bar and saw they had new menus. I figured the bar had finally gotten around to charging nudie bar prices for their liquor. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that they LOWERED all of their prices. I love lingerie bars!
tHE SELF HELP GUIDE TO LEARNING ABOUT LINGERIE BARS!
The women who work at lingerie bars are typically white trash or their ethnic counterparts. Many (if not all) of the bartenders you find in lingerie bars used to 'dance' for a living and now they are too old, too cracked out, or too dead inside to strip down for money.
The good thing about these girls is they are usually the kinda strippers that talked to you for a little before and after the lap dance they gave you, because they get how you only go to strip clubs for the girl friend experience because women don't like talking to you, on account of your policy of no showering, which I guess is good for the planet, but not so good for your prospects of getting laid.
THERE ARE RULES OF ETIQUETTE AT LINGERIE BARS LIKE THERE ARE RULES OF ETIQUETTE EVERY WHERE
I know that a bar that advertises sexy women dressed in lingerie feels like a place where you can stop pretending to be part of normal society and just indulge in your desire to stare at the back of the saggy and cellulited ass that is pouring you (and your only friend) a warm draft, but don't. Unless her back is completely turned to you, and in that case she will expect you to.
Otherwise it is policy of these places for you to pretend that the bartender is fully dressed and not half naked, and the reason you drove down to the bad part of town and climbed the run down stairs that take you inside a remodeled former apartment complex that now offers postal boxes, and a porn store with gay jacking booths, is because you actually like the drinking specials and sharing your time with the little community of drug fiends, pushers, homeless people with money, and the desperate losers like you who can't find female companionship.
You can always tell a novice at at lingerie bar because they look the bartenders up and down like they are at a nudie bar. Don't be a rookie. You must pretend to not stare at any cleavage until you make a crack about how everyone else here is just a loser and you can probably get a girl friend if you tried because a lot of women ignore the smell of shit stained underwear on men because that is the way their daddy's smelled.
Once you break the tension, you can go ahead and stare all you want as long as you add a little compliment to your voyeurism like, "damn girl you got a booty back there!" She will enjoy the compliment and be brought back to a time in her life when men valued her enough to give her money, and a woman with her life experience knows that money is the best way to show you care about someone.
DO NOT START SHIT WITH ANYONE/HOW TO HIT ON A LINGERIE BARTENDER
You might not believe it but nearly everyone in a lingerie bar will be pissed off and ready to fight. Homeless people don't look tuff, but they don't fight fair. They kick and bite and have nothing to lose.
The men inside a lingerie bar are well aware of the competitive pressures they are under, because the only woman who ever steps inside a lingerie bar is the woman who works there, and that means you have to become a regular to get on her good side and get her comfortable with who you are so she does not freak out too much when you ask her out on a date.
*hint*
another rookie mistake men make is getting all gushy with a lingerie bartenders because it is the first time many of them have had a woman in her underwear talking to them. just realize she is in her underwear for every guy there and she is not looking for a dude who mistakes a little nipple slip for true love
*end of hint*
Avoid one of the biggest rookie mistakes of hanging out at a lingerie bar. Don't ask your bartender out too quickly because then she will just mentally file you away with all the other alcoholic losers who visit her bar. She will dismiss your invitation as the sloppy, drunken, horny attempt it actually is. But if you get to know her you can talk to her like a real person. Remember to show up on a regular basis. Tip her generously enough to leave her feeling good without seeming like a chump who just gives all your cash away to any moderately attractive women who smiles at you. She will want to know that she can trust you will be frugal around all of her prostitute friends.
If you follow my advice then you have built the right kind of moment for you to ask her out. I would suggest inviting her to a party or invite her to do something that she likes (this requires a lot of paying attention to things she says, and is way more difficult than it sounds, as she often will say inappropriate things that make no sense, like how her therapist suggests divulging how her father molested her as a child because keeping secrets is bad, but go ahead and give it a shot.)
You could also go with the whole dinner and movie thing, but play it like you think that kind of thing is lame, but that it might be funny to go on a date like normal people. Maybe she will mention she is a prostitute on the date. Try and ignore this attempt to get your money unless you feel you are being followed by a large Porta Rican, then give her the money she asks for and your ATM card if you value your life.
Good night and happy hunting,
Romius T.
I got invited to a BBQ today from a friend at work. The texts message indicated that no hard liquor will be consumed and no drama is allowed. I guess dinner parties for teenagers are different than dinner parties for adults. Adults like drama and hard liquor because it gives us an excuse to do the things teens do when they are sober. If I end up going to this party it will be to continue gathering my drinking experiences to put in my book.
Speaking of food, I am considering eating a sausage biscuit for breakfast even though the last time I ate one of these walmart frozen sausage patties I had the runs and a terrible case of gas. I go to work in a few hours, so I sure hope that pattern does not repeat itself, because I ate the patty anyway. I am taking the chance on a bad case of diarrhea because I spent 4 dollars on 30 spicy sausage patties and I don't just want to throw them away on the chance that the patties defrosted in the walmart freezer before I bought them, and are now simply the breeding ground for some anti-biotic resistant strain of microbe that the government planted in sausage patties to reduce the population mass that votes for Obama, because we all know black people love biscuits and gravy.
I should probably go ahead and finish the update from yesterday for you guys on my drinking last night, not that it was really exciting. I was reading one of the free magazines Palo Verde offers to its patrons instead of easy women, entertainment, or good times, and I discovered that Arizona has another lingerie bar. I was a regular at the only other lingerie bar before Mayor Phil Gordon incurred my wrath and lost my vote by shutting down the bar. In case you don't know what a lingerie bar is, a lingerie bar is a bar where the wait staff all dress in lingerie.
What is so great about a lingerie bar anyway?
Class. A lingerie bar is way classier than a nudie bar. And cheaper to boot. You don't have to pay for lap dances and the girls get to keep their dignity by keeping their clothes on. The lat lingerie bar I went to had cheap beer specials too. I remember being astounded one day when I got to the bar and saw they had new menus. I figured the bar had finally gotten around to charging nudie bar prices for their liquor. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that they LOWERED all of their prices. I love lingerie bars!
tHE SELF HELP GUIDE TO LEARNING ABOUT LINGERIE BARS!
The women who work at lingerie bars are typically white trash or their ethnic counterparts. Many (if not all) of the bartenders you find in lingerie bars used to 'dance' for a living and now they are too old, too cracked out, or too dead inside to strip down for money.
The good thing about these girls is they are usually the kinda strippers that talked to you for a little before and after the lap dance they gave you, because they get how you only go to strip clubs for the girl friend experience because women don't like talking to you, on account of your policy of no showering, which I guess is good for the planet, but not so good for your prospects of getting laid.
THERE ARE RULES OF ETIQUETTE AT LINGERIE BARS LIKE THERE ARE RULES OF ETIQUETTE EVERY WHERE
I know that a bar that advertises sexy women dressed in lingerie feels like a place where you can stop pretending to be part of normal society and just indulge in your desire to stare at the back of the saggy and cellulited ass that is pouring you (and your only friend) a warm draft, but don't. Unless her back is completely turned to you, and in that case she will expect you to.
Otherwise it is policy of these places for you to pretend that the bartender is fully dressed and not half naked, and the reason you drove down to the bad part of town and climbed the run down stairs that take you inside a remodeled former apartment complex that now offers postal boxes, and a porn store with gay jacking booths, is because you actually like the drinking specials and sharing your time with the little community of drug fiends, pushers, homeless people with money, and the desperate losers like you who can't find female companionship.
You can always tell a novice at at lingerie bar because they look the bartenders up and down like they are at a nudie bar. Don't be a rookie. You must pretend to not stare at any cleavage until you make a crack about how everyone else here is just a loser and you can probably get a girl friend if you tried because a lot of women ignore the smell of shit stained underwear on men because that is the way their daddy's smelled.
Once you break the tension, you can go ahead and stare all you want as long as you add a little compliment to your voyeurism like, "damn girl you got a booty back there!" She will enjoy the compliment and be brought back to a time in her life when men valued her enough to give her money, and a woman with her life experience knows that money is the best way to show you care about someone.
DO NOT START SHIT WITH ANYONE/HOW TO HIT ON A LINGERIE BARTENDER
You might not believe it but nearly everyone in a lingerie bar will be pissed off and ready to fight. Homeless people don't look tuff, but they don't fight fair. They kick and bite and have nothing to lose.
The men inside a lingerie bar are well aware of the competitive pressures they are under, because the only woman who ever steps inside a lingerie bar is the woman who works there, and that means you have to become a regular to get on her good side and get her comfortable with who you are so she does not freak out too much when you ask her out on a date.
*hint*
another rookie mistake men make is getting all gushy with a lingerie bartenders because it is the first time many of them have had a woman in her underwear talking to them. just realize she is in her underwear for every guy there and she is not looking for a dude who mistakes a little nipple slip for true love
*end of hint*
Avoid one of the biggest rookie mistakes of hanging out at a lingerie bar. Don't ask your bartender out too quickly because then she will just mentally file you away with all the other alcoholic losers who visit her bar. She will dismiss your invitation as the sloppy, drunken, horny attempt it actually is. But if you get to know her you can talk to her like a real person. Remember to show up on a regular basis. Tip her generously enough to leave her feeling good without seeming like a chump who just gives all your cash away to any moderately attractive women who smiles at you. She will want to know that she can trust you will be frugal around all of her prostitute friends.
If you follow my advice then you have built the right kind of moment for you to ask her out. I would suggest inviting her to a party or invite her to do something that she likes (this requires a lot of paying attention to things she says, and is way more difficult than it sounds, as she often will say inappropriate things that make no sense, like how her therapist suggests divulging how her father molested her as a child because keeping secrets is bad, but go ahead and give it a shot.)
You could also go with the whole dinner and movie thing, but play it like you think that kind of thing is lame, but that it might be funny to go on a date like normal people. Maybe she will mention she is a prostitute on the date. Try and ignore this attempt to get your money unless you feel you are being followed by a large Porta Rican, then give her the money she asks for and your ATM card if you value your life.
Good night and happy hunting,
Romius T.
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