I saw in some publication, I forget which, a segment in which celebrities let their ipods play a few songs at random, and they comment upon each one. So, I'm going to steal this idea, because I don't have a worthwhile topic, which is partly due to not having any new life experiences, since I have been holed up in my apartment with some God awful, bubonic plague-style virus that 4 of the 5 roommates have suffered through. The fifth would have contracted it too, but he was out of town. There's nothing like barfing and hearing your roomie downstairs barfing right along with you in stereo. If only we had adjoining toilets in which to yack, and that way we could have held hands. If I didn't see that the first roommate to contract this beast lived through it, I really would have thought I was giving up the ghost.

ANYWAY, I'm ready to hit the skip button on my itunes and see what comes up. There are 5,956 songs, and if it played from A to Z it would take SIXTEEN days. So, anything can pop up, and I promise to report on each one, no matter how embarrasing . . .

1. Holy crap! This is embarrassing. I Just Died in Your Arms Tonight by Cutting Crew. This song came on a Totally 80's compilation that I bought when I worked at a used CD store. I also have the Awesome 80's. There are 40 songs on each, for a total of 80 songs, some of which are essential, must-haves, and many are piss-poor, like this one. Apparently these 'Brits' reached number one in the United States with this little slice of pop-Hell in 1986. They opened for bands like Huey Lewis and the News, The Bangles, and Starship. Yikes. Cutting Crew could only make an evening with any one of those shitty bands that much shittier. I TOLD you I would report on any craptastic song that surfaced during this process. Let's just move on, and forget about Cutting Crew for a moment.

2. Luna - Smashing Pumpkins. This is a cool song, but it kind of works on the album as a good winding down, record finisher, and doesn't stand on its own all that well. I tried to look on songlyrics.com, a great site by the way, but the lyrics are kind of ambiguous, and didn't give me much to go on. You know what I don't like 9 times of ten? Strings in my rock. It works in this song okay, since it's fairly understated, but when it's too high in the mix it just sounds pretentious and self-important. I can deal with some horns, like with Neutral Milk Hotel, but for the most part, keep those strings out of my rock, damnit! You know, after my third listen just now, this is a pretty damn good song. Let's see what track three has in store for us . . .

3. Chains of Love by Erasure! Is it really gay that I LOVE this song and A Little Respect by the same band? Both of them make me so damn happy. You know what's really scary? Songs that are a lot of fun, that make me want to dance, or gance in this case, make me want a cocktail. I've been classically conditioned to associate dancing and drinking. Good thing for me I have this stomach flu, or this song would make me have a few and gance the night away.

4. She's Not There - Toadsuck Symphony. This is a cool bluegrass version of the oldie originally recorded by The Zombies, which I believe was also covered by Santana. My friend and former roommate's mother was born in Toadsuck, Arkansas. I wonder if this band hails from Toadsuck? Toadsuck!?!? What an unfortunate name for a town! Do you think the founders of the city caught a buzz off of sucking on toads? In any event, these guys really jam at the end of this cut! There are a lot of bluegrass versions of songs that gain interest merely because of the campiness and novely factor, but these cats can play and sing really well, and they record some very original interpretations.

5. She Took a Long Cold Look at Me - Syd Barrett. Syd's my boy. I'd tell you all about how much I love his music, and how I'm fascinated by his tragic tale, but I already wrote all about it in a blog I wrote when he passed away earlier this year; You'll just have to go to the July section and scroll down, because the flipping link isn't working. I'm listening to She Took a Long Cold Look At Me on head phones right now, and I really dig how you can hear him turn pages while he plays and sings. I'm getting sad thinking about his insanity, public breakdowns, and the tole that the heartless music industry took on such an innocent genius, so let's move on.

Well, I hope you enjoyed this, and I encourage you blog your own experiences delving into the depths of your music collection, and no cheating! I shared some Cutting Crew, so you have to share something equally shitty should it pop up.

The Course of Events on the Night Before the Night Before Christmas

I woke up yesterday and immediately put on music. I do this most every day, but for some reason on this morning I needed to hear Ain't Nobody by Rufus and Chaka Khan, with a reasonable amount of volume. I think I got carried away, because I woke up one of my roommates, one of my INSANE roommates, and he proceeded to blast his OWN music super loud so that now he and I weren't just awake, but all 5 roomies, and perhaps the tenants below us were now awake. If they didn't wake up from the music, and bad music in my estimation, and not bad meaning good like Chaka, they were surely given a rude awakening by the ensuing ferocious door slamming. He has a hair trigger temper and seems to have a revenge philosophy similar to that of Sean Connery's character in The Untouchables ("They send one of yours' to the hospital, you send one of theirs to the morgue, etc"). If the door slamming and music blasting doesn't convince you that he has the philosophy, then you have to believe me when I say that when I went into the bathroom which we share to shower I saw that the shower was running, left on hot. I had reason to believe that he did this intentionally to run me out of hot water, so I was slamming my fists on the tile walls of the shower in a fit of rage, which is totally out of character for me. Dead-on in character for him, but not me.

So, after my cold shower that left me feeling like pneumonia's wet dream, I was off to take pictures of Santa!! I was ecstatic to see that I had a GREAT crew when I got there. I've worked on and off with photography company employees "C" and "W" for over a year, and both know what they are doing, are a lot of fun, and I consider them friends. W brings a lot of energy to his job, like me, he may be a roommate real soon (see last paragraph) and both of us were amazing and jingling the sleigh bells to get the babies looking at the camera, and then snapping the picture with expert timing. All in all it was a pretty fun gig, and I think we did really well. It's a stupid, weekend job, but as I've said in previous posts, I take pride in my work and like when everything goes to plan, and the customers are satisfied.

That evening I went out for a few cocktails with two of my buds. Together we made up 3 of the 4 Horsemen. The fourth had to close the restaurant he manages. I know it sounds nerdy, but we have always called ourselves the 4 Horsemen, because we hit it off so much when we go out, and it has a nice ring to it. It seems that it's tough to get all of us together, and even tougher to get all of us together AND single. Currently, the guy that didn't make it is engaged, one guy is headed that way, one of them is really excited about a girl he's been talking to, and one of them is me. Our favorite bar, The Liar's Club, had a small crowd on the day before Christmas Eve, since many Chicagoans had already packed up and went home to their families. This enabled us to get the table that is elevated five feet in the air, which we found to be a lot of fun, if you can endure the heightened smokiness. With our bird's eye view, oldness, and wise-cracking ability, we likened ourselves to Waldorf and Statler from The Muppet Show.

Our one friend was having a lot of doubt about the idea of marriage. He loves his girl, but he has had A LOT of marriages around him crumble. Through the course of our conversation, it became evident that all 3 of us want kids, but are unsure about wives. Anyway, we decided we will start a Four Horsemen Commune, where the 4 of us will live and help each other raise our children, which we will adopt, etc. It would almost be like a TV's Full House situation, only with one additional uncle, and less vomit-inducing corniness.

Okay, I'm off to see my non-commune family for Christmas. Hope you all have a super holiday!

Sincerely,

The Gancer

These Dreams Go On When I Close My Eyes (A Flipping, 80's, Heart Reference???!!!!)

Don't you hate when someone tells you about a dream he/she had? It's never as interesting to the listener as it is to the dreamer, right? They're always like, "I was at work, but it WASN'T work." Yeah . . . That's fucking creepy! Let me free up my schedule so you can regail with all the boring-ass dreams you've had all WEEK! It's not like they're recommending a movie, and you can go out and rent this dream and see it for yourself. More accurately, it just sucks up a little time of your life you've now had to devote to listening to some meat head talk about crap going on in his subconscious mind, which is stuff HE/SHE needs to figure out, not you.

So . . . I had this dream the other night in which I was working on a campaign for a Black Republican running for a political position of some kind. Let me tell you right now that I HATE most everything Republicans stand for, and I don't think I'll lose any of my seven readers by saying that, and if I do, so be it. Actually, don't go Republican reader! I can get past the fact that you like Republicans, so long as you like what's important: ME.

Anyway, I find myself saying to this politician hopeful, who looks EXACTLY like Lovie Smith, current head coach of the Chicago Bears, "You barely won last election, but this time you're going to win by a LAND SLIDE!" All the while in the dream I'm thinking, 'What in the blazes am I doing here? I don't support anything these people stand for,' yet at no point in the dream did I get up and leave.

IMPLICATIONS: I tend to coast and flounder through life bitching about things, but rarely take an active role in changing matters, especially when it comes to making changes in my OWN life.

Now that I've sufficiently wasted your time, I feel I should make a recommendation, so that you've gotten something for your time.

LISTEN TO: The Misfits - I've been loving Danzig era Misfits stuff so much lately that I wore a Misfits shirt to a Christmas party, just because I got in the mail and was excited to wear it.
WATCH: Best Week Ever on VH1 - It catches you up to speed on all the shows, movies, celebrity gossip, and funny internet stuff for the week.
DRINK: 7 and 7 - I'm having a resurgence in this cocktail.
EAT: Pequod's Pizza in Chicago - They recently classed it up a little with some remodeling, which lost them some favor in my book, but they do still serve up one helluva slice of 'za.

Please read this link and come back for the related half-assed analysis:
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/16157113/


Evidently Asian Indian men as a whole aren't as well hung as their counterparts in varying other parts of the globe. What cracked me up about the article is the high incidences of AIDS in the country being partly due to these Indian fellas being ashamed of buying the snug-fitters, and the proposed solution? Vending machines. Man, sometimes I think you're better off hittin' it raw (did I just say that?) than using one of those jimmies. I didn't mean that, seven readers. Don't hit it raw (Good Lord! I've said it again).

So, these guys KNOW that AIDS is spreading across their fine nation like I Can't Believe It's Not Butter spreads across a puff pastry, but when faced with the choice of AIDS or the embarrassment of buying a snug-fitter, they're like, "Eh, she looks clean."

Come on, Indian Men! Too much is at stake to be this shy about your manhood. Besides, it's not the size of the boat; it's the motion of the ocean. Secondly, it doesn't take a big hose to put out a fire. Furthermore, it's not the size of the ax; it's how you SWING it!

* Doesn't the guy in this picture look pleased as punch buying his body bag???
** A big, "Proper!" in honor of Cherry Ride to the first of my seven readers to know from what song I got the term body bag . . .

Death Cab for Kenny

I had one of those awful nights on Saturday night in which I had too many places to be, so I ended up spending more money on cabs than I did on drinks. As I was cold and standing outside of my third location, looking for a cab home, I was excited to see an available cabbie finally approaching. I walked towards it, but a group consisting of two girls and a guy tried to run in front of me, somehow claiming that it was their cab. The Gancer did not see it that way . . .

The two girls darted into the cab, one in front and one in back, and and I tried to do the same, but the dude grabbed me by the waist. I kept my legs moving and was able to skirt him and dive into the cab, saying, "I guess we're splitting this thing, cause I'm not going anywhere."

They were going to a location WAY out of the way for me, and I'm sure I could have gotten out at a busy intersection and got my own cab, but these people rubbed me the wrong way, so I wanted to give them some shit back. The dude called me a yuppie, to which I responded, "Look at your sweater! Plus you probably make double what I make." Then the girl in the back seat pulled up my shirt and gave me titty twisters! Then the guy in the back got into an argument with the girl in the front, and guy in the back storms out of the cab before reaching the destination!

I need to be more careful with who I piss off. I could have came out of that situation with more severe injuries than sore nips.

The Gancer's Top 3 Special Ladies

3. Chick From the Original Planet of the Apes.

I think it's because she was really hot, but she couldn't speak. That sounds really sexist and pig-like, but I don't mean it like that. Well, a small part of me means it like that, but really, wouldn't it be cool to fall for someone who couldn't speak? I don't think she would have went for me though, cause while Charlton Heston was saying, "Get your damn hands off me you damn, dirty apes!" I would have been in the next cell saying, "Dude, quit trying to be a bad-ass up in this piece! What do you want to do? Get hit with the fire hose again?" Chicks seem to like the heroic, rebel types and not the complacent, sissy boys. Story of my life.

2. Jennifer Beal's Character in Flashdance.

I could tell you all about how this character is everything that a woman should be, but I already talked about it at length. Read it if you have the time, but only if you have lots of time, because I wrote WAY long-winded posts in those days http://thegancer.blogspot.com/2006/02/is-it-wrong-for-3-straight-men-to.html

1. Cheerleader From Heroes.

Holy jeez! Just look at her!! She's immaculate. I was all ready to grab my long lens and pack my bags to go hide in her shrubbery for a few weeks, when I learned that she is 17 and living with her parents. The girl was born in 1989. 89! I am going to stop talking about her now before someone knocks on my door and arrests me.

69th Post, Dude!!!

My boy Cherry recently posted the first in a series of helpful hints to get through life, so with out further ado, I'd like to post the first in a series of Dr. Kenneth's Greatest Foot in the Mouth Moments, and this one is knee deep, ladies and gents . . .

I know this guy Darren, who my buddy dubbed Dangerous Darren.  We're all out at a bar and I see a girl who had hooked up with like three people in our circle of friends, one of which may or may not have been your humble narrator. So, I say to Dangerous Darren . . .

Me: "Hey, there goes Ronny talking to The Sure Thing."
Dangerous Darren: What do you mean?
Me: You know, that chick. She's getting around this crew quite nicely. She's getting filled out like an application.*
DD: You know I'm kind of dating her right now, right?
Me: Oh, man, I'm sorry . . . Let me freshen up that cocktail of yours . . .

* I didn't really say this line, but it's funny, huh?

As I Walked Up To the Counter at Taco Bell I Heard . . .

. . . the fat, Black woman working the register say, "I've been bending over too much at Taco Bell and not enough at home."

I put my hands up in the air as if to say, "Holy shit!" All she could say was "sorry," but it was nothing to be sorry about. In fact, it may have been the funniest thing I've heard in weeks, and I wish that you could have seen it. Maybe this picture of Nell Carter will help you get a visual . . .

I'm Really Pissed at Somebody

Have you ever been so mad at someone that you picture various ways of torturing him/her? The mode of choice for inflecting intense pain upon the rat bastard I have in mind involves laying his nuts on a cutting board and pounding them out flat with a meat tenderizer like a couple of chicken breasts.

The 2 Bite Wonder

When I was grocery shopping tonight I saw some cartoon character popsicles, and I got thinking of one of the most legendary events ever to happen in a grade school lunch, ever, anywhere in the country.

A kid in my 5th or 6th grade class ate a Mickey Mouse ice cream bar in two bites. If you'll recall, Mickey's ears were chocolate covered (although the one pictured is fully chocolate covered) and about 3 to 4 inches wide. He ate the flipping ears in one bite, angling each ear in his mouth until it was all in there. Then he ate Mickey's face with his second bite. Done.

After that he had the hugest ice cream headache ever known to mankind, and he had to be rushed to the hospital. No, he wasn't taken to the hospital, but he was in such severe pain, and his brain was frozen to such a marked degree that he was mentally and physically out of it for the next few classes.

The novelty ice cream eating champion of the free world ended up going to a different high school, but I heard he would go to parties with his own case of beer and wouldn't share with anyone. So, as it turns out, he was gluttonous with ice cream AND beer. I would say that he went on to bigger and better things, but knowing what little I know about him, I think that the Mickey Mouse Bar inhaling may still be his crowning achievement.

Halloween Was Good, Except for THE MAN Trying to Keep the GREEN Man Down

Last night a guy at the door of this SHITTY bar in Chicago called Mix was giving me a hard time about my ID, like it's not me or like I'm not 21. I was dressed as Frankenstein with a green cap with scars and black hair, and my face was painted green. I suppose I looked a little different than I did in the picture, considering I WAS DRESSED AS FUCKING FRANKENSTEIN, but this guy was a real cock about it. I'm 29, so maybe green paint hides my age. Shit, why is it not socially acceptable to walk around in green paint? I'd mix it up, like The Hulk on Tuesdays, the Jolly Green Giant on Thursday's, Gazoo on Fridays . . . Anyway, this guy was like a frustrated cop, shining his big, stupid flash light in my face. I'm all, "Ask me anything you want about my ID. I'm me. I've been me all my life." Of all questions, he asks me, "Where did you get your driver's license." Now, I've gotten many a license at many a location, so I'm like, "I don't know. Is it in Naperville or does it say Chicago?" He's all, "It ain't Naperville." So I'm all, "Well, does it say the specific location in Chicago? I guess I'll say on Elston?" Thankfully, or maybe not thankfully, since the bar sucks, he got busy with something else and just let me in. So, I paid my 10 dollar cover to get into a shitty bar, and yes, this bar is shitty, and I got harassed by flipping T.J. Hooker with an attitude.

I'm going in there another night covered in green paint and with every aspect of my ID MEMORIZED, right down to the quality of lamination. Just when I pass his battery of questions, I'm going to say, "Fuck you and your bar!" Then I'll say a few phrases from the green man I will be dressed as on the evening in question. Let's see if you can guess which one:

"Yo ho ho! My green dick wouldn't fuck the skanky yo ho ho's in this joint for all the frozen peas in Jewel!"

Are You a Good Son or Daughter?

I'm going to go to my parents' place after work today. I have to make a scheduled time to do it, or I will get lazy and go home, so I booked a Wednesday. It's not a bad deal, because they cook me the meal of my choice, and my dad is an awesome cook. He usually loads me up with other leftovers, so I have free meals for a while, and my roomies are loving that too, especially when there are cookies.

It's always good to see them, and to see the dog, but it's just in a suburb the opposite opposite way home on the interstate, away from Chicago. After work I'm just so drained. Like today for instance, staying late with the most defiant, manipulating, work-avoiding student of all time. I'm basically staying here until he's done, and he's pulling every trick in the book on me. So, I'll have 5 days like these, then I say I'll go on the weekends, but then I work Saturdays, and Sundays I wake up late, turn on the Bears game, and before I know it, it's too late.

Give me some input here, seven readers. I'm just trying to figure out if I'm a lousy son or not.

How often do you all see your parents?
Do they live near by?
How often do you call? Do you call when you have something specific to tell or ask them, or do you ever call just to chat?
Do you have a specific activity, like weekly, that you always do with them?
How about this kicker: Do you exchange, "I love you's" at the end of the conversation?

Thanks in advance for the input. Hey, it doesn't always have to be funny. We can delve into a little introspection and learn a little about ourselves too . . .

-The Gancer

Nude Field Goal Kicking???!?!?!

I didn't think my night could get any better after, to quote a friend, "the best worst game ever or worst best game ever," but then I heard God speak to me on the radio. First the game. The Chicago Bears turned the ball over 6 times, we were down 20 at half, and we scored ZERO offensive touchdowns. I am taking full credit for this victory, because I tried everything to shake up this Bear offense. I changed chairs, changed lighting, and put on a head band for the 2nd half. You know what did it though? I turned the television off. After the 6th turnover, down 13, and with hardly any time left on the clock, I was disgusted and went off to bed. I won the game with that move, and frankly I'm really pissed that Brian Urlacher didn't thank me in his press conference.

Now back to the subject at hand. As I'm brushing my teeth I hear an advertisement on the radio for The Admiral Theatre, a local Chicago strip joint, and I could have sworn I heard Nude Field Goal Kicking. But I couldn't have heard that because that is simply too funny and brilliant. If something that awesome existed then we wouldn't have any problems with Korea and nuclear weapons. George and that guy with the big glasses would have a beer, watch a few greased up nude girls fall down trying to kick a ball, have a few laughs, and then immediately both disarm.

So, I did a little google search to see if I heard what I thought I heard. I found nothing on The Admiral website mentioning any football related nakedness, but I didn't give up there. I actually called them up and spoke to a representative. Here was the conversation.

Me: I just heard an advertisement on the radio, and did they say nude field goal kicking?
Nudey Bar Receptionist: Yes. Every Monday night after the game.
Me: So, we're talking 3 nude girls? One snapping, one holding, and one kicking a field goal?
NBR: Yeah, I guess. Every Monday.
Me: I will see you on Monday.

A week from today The Gancer may be engaging in some investigative reporting, and I just might walk on as a long snapper . . .*

*For my Austrailian readers, a long snapper is the guy who hikes the football between his legs a long distance. Typically, that is all he does, unlike the center, who hikes the ball and blocks every other down. The long snapper hikes the ball and gets mauled over by marauding opponents who are trying to block punts.

"I'm EXPRESSING with my full capabilities"

I recently noticed that I use a lot of expressions that I've gathered up over the years. I've been told I talk like an old man sometimes, which to me is a compliment. I like to think I'm an old soul.

So, without further delay, here are my top ten favorite expressions:

1. The next time someone is eating the shit out of something in mass quantities say "You're eating like you have 16 assholes!" - The implication is that to poo out that much food one would need numerous out holes.

2. "That chick is crazier than a shit-house rat!" - A guy in Stand By Me says that about the Corey Feldman character's dad. If any of you watched The Surreal Life you
will know that Corey himself is bat shit crazy. <---- That's another good one.

3. When you see someone shivering like crazy in the cold say, "you are shaking like a dog shitting peach pits." This one I got from my mom, of all people. Picturing a German Shepherd working out a peach pit cracks my shit up.

4. "I swear that guy is dumber than a bag of hammers." Love that one. It's just so wonderfully random.

5. If you find yourself at a house party and someone hands you a warm, crappy beer, tell them, "this beer tastes like a tub of warm piss that somebody farted in!"

6. When someone is being indecisive or when someone is screwing around say, "Would you quit fuck-assin' around!" I got that from a fiend of mine from Indiana, and with his accent it's really damn funny.

7. If you are lucky enough to see a young lady with big hooters in your new future, say "The last time I saw jugs like that a couple of hill-billies were blowin' in 'um."

8. "It's colder than a well digger's ass in here!" I've also heard hotter than a well digger's ass, so the temperature is undetermined, but we know it's extreme in which ever direction it may be.

9. "I'm outy like a fat girl in dodge ball." That one is kind of mean, but you gotta believe 9 out of 10 chubby, female students are likely to be sitting on the side within a few seconds of that first whistle.

10. The next time you let out a particularly loud and retched burp, say "Pardon me. I meant to puke."

I feel I should include one of my least favorite expressions: "I want to fuck the shit out of her!" That is a really sleazy phrase and really disgusting when you think about it literally. For some reason I just always picture going to town on some girl and doody squirting out of everywhere, even her ears.

Alright, seven readers, let's hear some of your favorite/least favorite expressions!

Vicar in a Tutu

So I'm having pizza at Pizzeria Due in Chicago, unbelievably good pizza by the way, and my eight-year-old nephew turns to me and says, "Uncle Gancer, you dressed like a girl when you were little." WOW! Where in the hell did that come from? Well, I'll tell you.

I have just one sibling, my older sister. There were days when I was really young, before I had started school and met many friends, and I was attention starved. Just to give you an idea, here's another funny incident before my foray into cross-dressing started. My sister had a friend over, and my dad demanded that they play with me. So he comes back an hour or so later and I'm in my room and my sister and her friend are in her room. My dad is all pissed and says to her, "I thought I said you had to play with him!" She responds, "We are. We're playing house and he's the next-door-neighbor." I guess I was just chilling in my "house," praying to God my neighbors needed to borrow some sugar at some point, or maybe I was playing the part of Larry and would later try to convince them to go to the Regal Beagle. This sad tale shows you a few things.

1. I would do just about anything if it meant my sister was paying attention to me
2. I was easily tricked

So, one day she convinces me to play dress-up with her. The next thing I know I have make-up on, my hair done up, a tutu around my waist, and I'm spinning around like the gayest, little boy ever to dive into Swan Lake.

Well, my sadistic parents must have seen this as a good opportunity to take photos, probably for future black mailing purposes, and those very photos must have been the ones my nephew saw. It's kind of a sad day when your eight-year-old nephew is busting on you . . .

Former Roomy Wow's Me With Hook-Up

It had been a couple of months since I had been to the Liar's Club (my favorite Chicago bar), and the minute I set foot in the joint I felt like my chi was centered and my cholesterol was somehow lowered.

My good friend, HLP (Heterosexual Life Partner) had spent the entire day at a Cubs game with his friend's girlfriend and her friend. He had made the mistake of mentioning that he thought the friend was cute once, and ever since this couple has been forcing this girl on him like they are desperately trying to breed a couple Siberian Huskies for the Iditarod. I'm sure you know a couple yourself who seems to think all is not right with the world until everyone is paired off like them, so that they have lots of couples to get together with and play Pictionary, or do whatever it is sets of couples do these days. Although he's not into her too much, Friend of Girlfriend is very into HLP, so she was coming onto him all day. This will play a factor later . . .

So I'm watching HLP hitting it off with a random girl at the bar, but there were two major road blocks.

1) She had a friend with her. No problem right? He is with a great friend (The Gancer) who could run interference for him. However, she was a HEAVY friend. I have jumped on many grenades for buddies, but tonight was my first night in Liar's Club in two months, so running interfence on this gal would have prevented me from fully enjoying the experience. His prayers were answered when I noticed Heavy Friend was leaving! So he's good right? Wrong. Enter road block 2.

2) Just then Friend of Girlfriend made a final play to win Roomy's heart. She was knowingly, outright, full-on C-blocking, but I guess she figured she had to go for broke.

Long story short, Friend of Girlfriend finally threw in the towel, he made out with the random, and got her number. I got a call from him this morning and he asked me if I caught her name. Problem. I came up with a solution to this dilmea, which I happen to think is brilliant. What he has to do is call her on a work day at a time that she is almost certainly working, like at 10:00 AM. That's his best chance to catch the voice mail, where she will almost certainly give her name. If she picks up, well, then I guess he just says, "Hey, you!" or "Hey, pretty." or "Hey, homegirl." or "Hey, Mulva . . ."

A Notion as Innovative as It Is Ambitious

Today during a lunch break at work, some coworkers were talking about a big, fat woman who I thankfully have never had to work with. Not that I have nothing against overweight people, but what sounds downright brutal about this chick is that she talks about her infections (of the urinary AND yeast variety, the leather teddies her husband buys for her, and all sorts of other gross details you wouldn't want to hear from ANYONE, let alone a great, big fat lady. One coworker, who is always getting off awesome one-liners, leaned in and delivered a sound bite that made me damn near shoot root beer out my nose clear across the room, and then he immediately left to 'keep 'um wanting more.' The line was as follows:

"If you wanted to begin to figure out how to lay a woman like that you'd have to throw flour all over her and look for the wet spot."