I saw my good friend, Oates, at a Super Bowl party. It had been a long time since I had seen him. He is that guy who gets a girlfriend and then completely disappears, and he has demonstrated that it is a consistent pattern in all three of the committed relationships I have seen him in. Also, he typically likes mean and nasty princess bitch types. You see, Oates can be a little vain. He dresses very nicely, his hair is always styled perfectly with every hair right in place, and he expects the same from the women he chooses. Oates is a great guy, but the problem is, those types of women are sometimes terrible people. When he has one of those girlfriends in his life, he never brings them out around us, and in the rare cases when he does, he acts completely different - not himself.

But on Super Bowl Sunday the one he has been seeing is there, she is a great-looking gal, and she could not be nicer. And Oates was completely acting like good-old-Oates, being himself. There were a lot of babies crawling around the joint, and one of his former ladies would not agree to commit to a baby party. Probably partly out of fear of getting spit-up on her posh clothing (I wanted to use a name brand here, but I have no idea what is nice these days). Oates' lady could not get enough babies, as a matter of fact. She must have held four or five babies through the course of the four quarters, Lady Gaga's bungee jumping halftime performance, and the overtime.

The party was over at my buddy Haircut's place, and Haircut's son who just turned three was examining his foxy patient (Oates' Lady), checking her heart beat (but maybe more to check her boobies?), giving her shots and laughing hysterically, and trying to amputate her toes with a pair of scissors. Haircut said that his boy actually likes the company of pretty ladies. He is no dummy.

At one point I am walking around holding my guy, Baby Erik, sipping my Zombie Dust (that's a beer) and dipping things into crab dip with my spare hand, and I notice Oates' female companion smiling and staring at me. I walked over to the fridge to get a fresh beer, popped it open, looked up, and there she was again gawking at me with that smile. "Dang, Dr. Ken," I thought, "You still got it, you old dog, you." Must have been my new jeans, or maybe those long jogs or all those laps I swam had really payed off. Then it dawned on me that it was what I was holding that was the object of her affection. Baby Erik had charmed another one. I asked Oates' lady if she wanted to hold him, and she jumped off the couch as if she had been waiting forever for me to ask. Waiting for me to catch on that Erik is the cute one.

"Hey, girl. You staring at that line in my fat wrist?"

This kid is quite the charmer, I must say. And Doctor Kenneth and Doctor Haircut's Son both say so.

The Incredible Exploding Boobies

Last night I met Haircut and Oates for some buckets of beers and perhaps a few too many chilled shots of Rumplemintz at a hole in the wall bar nearby in Chicago.  The place is kind of famous for its giant boobed alcoholic bartender who gets a little too drunk while she is working, screwing up orders and saying insane stuff.  She wasn't working last night, but she did come in to hang out on her night off, something I have seen more than once before, and she was very excited to see Oates, who she views as a little brother, often giving him unsolicited romantic advice.

For some reason we got on the topic of her giant fake boobs, and she told us that she has had two accidents resulting in having to have them replaced.  The first happened when she was on a first date with a guy and she felt one of them suddenly leak, putting a damper on the date.  Literally.

The second one is the one that made me fall out laughing and just made me glad to be alive to hear wacky stuff like this.  She was leaning into a fence trying to get the perfect picture of a giraffe when she was suddenly jolted by the electric fence, exploding her tits!  After one of those mishaps, she said the owner of the bar payed for another round of boobs for her.  Two good perks to working at that bar! 

Can I help you?  Did you get a good enough look this time? (This isn't actually her, just a random Google image)

Have you ever heard of anything like this, or do you have a bartender or barfly tale you would like to share?