Him: Hey, babe.  You almost done in there?  Because I gotta poo like a mastodon.

Her: Yikes.

Him: Wait, what's a mastodon again?  A minotaur is half man and half bull, and a centaur is a half man and half horse . . .




Her: A mastadon is a giant, hairy elephant thing.

Him: Oh yeah.  That's what I gotta' poo like so hurry up in there.

Drunken Man Love Tackling

Last night LSD and I were awakened to yelling and what sounded like a scuffle outside our bedroom window in the alley.  After listening further, it sounded like some poor guy was getting beaten up by a few other guys, so I decided to call 911 in an attempt to help him out.  Then I heard LSD laughing from the bathroom.  She told me that if I peered out of the open bathroom window at the right angle, I could see what was happening.

One guy had his buddy pinned down on the floor, and because they were so shit-canned drunk, we could hear every word they bellowed, and here it is as best as I can remember:

Chad: You're really going to do that?  You're going to punch your best friend?

Steve: I know.  I know . . . 

Chad: Over a girl?

Steve: You're right.  You're always fuckin' right (repeat nine or ten times)

Then I felt kind of bad calling the cops because although they were some idiotic drunks, all they were hurting was each other.  Well, it's okay because it seems as if Chad got up off Steve and the two of them stumbled into the sunset (or sunrise, more accurately) before the police arrived.  What I should have done was this:

Dr. Ken: Hey, boys!  So what happened with the girl?

Chad: What the fuck business is that of yours?

Steve: Yeah!  What the fuck?! (Steve seemed to be pretty limited in terms of his mental capacity, and he was mighty drunk)

Dr. Ken: Well, you did wake me and my lady-friend up, so the least you can do is let me know what all the fuss was about.

Chad: Well, asshole here wouldn't go for the brunette because he always has to have the blond, even though I tried to tell his drunk ass that the blond said she liked me and the brunette liked him.

Dr. Ken: So then you went home with neither?

Chad: Right

Dr. Ken: And now you're lying on top of one another in a dirty alley?  Together?

Steve: Hey!  You're the one that's the damn fag, window guy!

Dr. Ken: Steve, your friend is right.  You always take what comes your way in times like that.  Were they both hot?

Both: . . . Yeah

Dr. Ken: Then you just go with how it happens organically.  The odds of each of you getting serious with both of them after a drunken Tuesday are pretty slim so no need to fight.

Steve: No way, dude!  I think I love that blond one!

Dr. Ken: Not likely, Steve.  You don't even know her name, and what kind of prospect for a girlfriend gets blind drunk on a Tuesday like that?  Just see what you think in the morning.

Both: Fuck you!

Steve: Yeah, fuck you, window guy! 

------------------------------------
Then again, calling the cops and going back to sleep was probably the move.  In other news, here is a link to what is coming soon to my Chicago based blog, The Liars Club, often times involving crazies like these crazy Chicagoans.

I Hate Small Talk. So, I Do This Sort of Thing

(Dr. Ken bumps into an old "friend" at the bar)

Other Guy: Dr. Ken! It's been a while! What have you been up to?

Dr. Ken: You know. S.O.S. You?

OG: (Talks for way too long about himself. And then . . .) Are you still writing?

DK: Not really. Kabuki Theater has been my new passion, and that takes up the majority of my time, to be honest.

OG: That's so awesome! Wait, what is that again?

DK: Oh, well, you know, a group of us guys paint ourselves white and perform. All the women parts too, which is usually what I get stuck with, being the new guy and all. Okay, I had better get back to my friends, but great seeing you.

OG: Hold on just a minute. When is the next performance?

DK: Oh, we're sort of in between theaters right now so it's a little up in the air, but we're fixin' to keep the Kabuki going. Kabuki or die is what we say in the industry. We're down for life. I mean, it is quite a commitment, especially since the traditional white paint we use doesn't wear off until the middle of the next week of our day jobs, so we kind of look like splotchy albinos until at least Wednesday. But, we suffer for our art. For our Kabuki.

OG: Wow! You've always been . . . different. You got a Facebook or a Myspace for your theater group?

DK: No way, man. Kabuki has always been sort of underground, and that's the way we like it. We don't tell a soul until 20 minutes before the show, at which time we run out onto the streets in full makeup and swords and round up folks, usually tourists. Scared ones. It's more organic that way.

OG: Yeah. I think I read about that in The Reader.

DK: I wouldn't doubt it. The Kabuki scene is getting a lot of press, which to me is no good. But, so be it. If it gets too commercial, we just take it deeper into the underground. Maybe cut off each others fingers to show we're true artists.

OG: That is keeping it real.

DK: No. That's keeping it Kabuki. You be good, man.

(Dr. Ken merges into the crowd, disappearing, leaving Other Guy to his phone, frantically trying in vain to look up information on the Chicago Kabuki Theater scene. Must be too underground to find . . .)