Sleep Peeing or Pee Walking?

Last night a friend was telling me that she had an old friend stay over for a weekend, and after a night of hard drinking, this friend did some "sleep peeing" in a couple spots in the apartment.  My friend said she had no idea it happened until a day or two later when she smelled pee and first discovered that her friend had opened up the oven door and peed all over it.  

Sniffing for more pee, her nose led her to her entertainment center where her friend had peed all over the place, ruining the DVD player.  

Now, those two places are nothing like toilets.  The oven door lowers down, whereas a toilet seat lifts up.  And then the entertainment center, did she eject the little slide and pee right into the DVD slot because that is nothing at all like a toilet.  

This leads me to believe that this was an intentional pee pee attack!

"Dang!  Almost made it to the oven."

What do you all think?  Anyone have any "pee walking" stories?  Also, which do you think is a better term, sleep peeing or pee walking, and why?

The windows are not so good in my ancient Lincoln Park apartment, and sometimes I can hear every word people say when they are drunk and loud in the alley outside my bedroom.  My ladyfriend, LSD, is in town this weekend, and for whatever reason I decided to talk back to these idiots late last night.  The guy was in the alley on his phone, telling his friend, "I just hate electronic music."  So I opened the window and said, "What's wrong with electronic music?"  The guy told the person on the phone, "Someone just said what's wrong with electronic music?"  He didn't at all get the point that I was trying to tell him to shut the hell up and let me sleep.  I guess he just thought I was coming to the defense of electronic music.   He doesn't know me too well.  LSD and I had a good laugh at this exchange and were still laughing when we got up this morning; and stayed in bed laughing for as long as we could.

Castlevania Cab Parts One and Two

So a couple weeks ago Night Train, Choo Choo Train, and myself get into a cab and there was a rather lovely young woman from Romania driving.  I told her she talked exactly like Bela Lugosi, only prettier.  I asked if she was an actual vampire, and she played along and we agreed that driving cabs at night is the perfect job for her, so long as she puts the cab away and gets safe and sound into her coffin before the sun comes out and fries her up like an egg.  When we were setting up the payment, she said she could take it out in blood, at which time I didn't hesitate to offer up my forearm for her to extract some type O negative.  

Fast forward one week later, and would you believe that the three of us get into a cab and who should be driving again?  That's right.  Sexy Bela Lugosi.  Of all the cabs in Chicago and the same three guys get into a cab with the exact same driver?  The odds of this occurring are astronomical.  I'm convinced she has vampire powers.  I'm scared.  I think I'll take the bus from now on . . . 

Just imagine this.  Only not a man, not ugly, and no butt-chin.

Do you ever have one of those dreams where if someone didn't mention something to remind you of it, it would be totally lost from your memory forever?  That happened to me tonight when I was out with some friends watching a game 7 in the NHL playoffs for my Chicago Blackhawks where someone made mention of the "Anchorman" sequel.  I was suddenly reminded that last night I had a dream that Ron Burgandy was titty-fucking Veronica Cornerstone.  I wasn't even in the dream - it was actually Will Ferrel and his penis doing that exact sex act and me just watching like in a movie.  In all honesty, even if I wasn't directly involved, it was still pretty hot.

Lan's Old Town

I went to Lan's Old Town for the first time on Friday night.  It is a bring your own alcohol Chinese restaurant and karaoke bar in Chicago that is famous for its' drunken owner and host, Jimmy Ma.  My good friend Choo Choo Train is a regular there, and he recommended we bring Jimmy a bottle of Jack. Jimmy was out front having a cigarette when we arrived, and he was already plastered.  He was pleased to see that we brought him a bottle, and he proceeded to crack the seal, take a swig out of it, got me in a head lock even though I have never met him, and then put his cigarette out.  With his tongue!!!

This is actually a picture of Jimmy!

 The customers all interact with one another, have a seat at each others tables to introduce themselves and share their booze with you.  There were tons of good looking girls in there that night, but it still wasn't enough for Jimmy's taste, and he kept asking us in his thick Chinese accent, "You going to bring some pussy in here, or what?"  Jimmy pretty much lives the dream and does whatever the hell he wants and people love him for it.  For example, he grabbed a beautiful blond girl who looked to be 30 years younger than him and just started making out with her, and she just thought it was hilarious.  Only Jimmy could pull off a move like that.

I know I will be back very, very soon, and I recommend you, my seven readers, give it a try too.  I do not, however, recommend putting cigarettes out on your tongue.

That Guy's Vein Is Kickin'

The other night a friend was saying he was throwing a party at a bar called Fat Pour, and I thought for all the world that he said fat porn.  This got me thinking that I have seen a couple of fan porns.  One night my buddiess from our high school track team decided to get together one night to watch a couple of these disgusting films.  One of our friends worked at a video store, and I think his morbid curiosity got the best of him, staring at those boxes in the little room behind the curtain all those times.  We settled in for a horrifying double feature: "Life in the Fat Lane" and "Fat Liners," both of which were equally gross.  They were just a series of big buff studs taking on really fat women, and one of them, the headliner, was around 800 pounds.  She looked like the Michelin Man.

Every ripple is like a new position in the Kamasutra!

Years later I ran into a guy from the track team who was there that fateful night.  He had long hair and would listen to Nine Inch Nails between races, which is of no consequence, but a fine choice for music, I think.  Anyway, he said, "Do you remember what you said that night that had us all laughing our asses off?"  I could not even wager a guess.  I was a much quieter and shy guy back then, believe it or not, so when I would finally say something, it was usually a doozy.  Apparently what I said when turning away from a close up on a big screen of a guy's wang was "Ugh, that guy's vein is kickin'."

That Time I Got Thrown Up Upon

A few weekends back we had a Chicago area bachelor party for a former roommate of mine who's formal bachelor party was a camping in the cold excursion (all Chicagoans took a pass on that one).  Being a long time drinking resident of the area, he asked me to be the point man on planning.  I said I could probably find a super cheap route where we could pay $15 to drink all we want for a few hours, to which he said, "I don't want to do an all-you-can-drink because that encourages binge drinking.  I really don't party much anymore."  That's actually what he said . . .

So he and all the guys arrive at my apartment, we're sipping some beers, and it was kind of sweet how Former Roomie was gushing over his bride to be, right down to the fact that he loved her big boobs.  He proceeded to show us a (fully clothed) picture.  Yup.  Big ones.  Then he makes an announcement: "Listen, guys.  No shots tonight.  I'm serious."  I had planned on doing maybe just one as a celebratory thing, but zero is just fine too.

Former Roomie said that inviting anyone was cool so Night Train met us out.  I forgot that Night Train orders shots nonstop so before I could think to tell him about the rule for the night, Night Train saddles over to us with a tray full of one ounce booze cups known as shots.  Former Roomie didn't even hesitate going against his own rule and immediately knocked down the shot of Jameson, or some other brown, vile liquid, and it wouldn't be his last of the night . . .

Oh yes, he did have one other rule: We had to end up at Liars Club before the end of the night.  This is a rule I liked even better than the first because, as long time readers will know, this is my favorite place on earth.  And this was the perfect night at Liars: Everyone was dancing, the music transitioned perfectly between Daft Punk and Motorhead, and all of us were having a ball.  Except Former Roomie who said that what he really wanted to do is go somewhere with a jukebox to use a phone application that he has to pick songs.  Despite the fact that my other good friend, James Douglas Morrison, and myself were dancing our faces off, we decided to do the right thing and accompany Former Roomie and his cousin to an after hours bar with a jukebox to play with.

Two more robots called in sick.

Former Roomie selects his songs, and while I was excited to hear a live version of "Roadhouse Blues," when I heard a different version of the same song back-to-back, I should have known that he had become powerfully drunk.  Suddenly, I look across the table at him, and his eyes are wide, he looks scared, and while looking right in my eyes, he spits what I thought was some beer onto the table.  I thought this was a joke until I saw that there were in fact some chunks on the table.  As well as on my shirt.  James Douglas Morrison and I just headed for the exits without saying a word to anyone, even each other, as we went in cabs to go our separate ways.

The next day I asked James Douglas what in the hell that was all about, and he texted back, "I saw puke come across the table, and I was worried I would be next, so I got outa' there like shit through a Goose Gossage."  He has a way with words, that guy . . .

Goose: "Whelp, that's a rap on the evening, gentlemen."

I got another text from Former Roomie, and he said, "Sorry I had to leave suddenly.  It was a long night.  hahaha.  Did you stay much longer after I left?"  Well, odds are if he doesn't remember that we left before him, he probably doesn't remember puking on me, and best to just keep it that way.  No need to make the guy feel bad about anything on his bachelor party.  Just head on back out of state, nuzzle in those big boobs, and go back to saying not to shot(s).

I was at a karaoke bar with a bunch of friends the other night, and I noticed a guy I remembered seeing the last time I was there so he is likely always there.  He looked to be in his upper 40's, had pro wresting hair (bald on top and long in the back), and he just hung out drinking Coors Lights and keeping the DJ company all night, off and on singing a song, usually by the Eagles.

At one point the DJ called for a guy to sing who was nowhere to be found, and my buddy, Choo Choo Train, said "That's karaoke abandonment!"  It was.  And that is high crime where Choo Choo and I come from . . .

After last call, wrestling hair guy went up to sing the last song of the evening, "Faithfully" by Journey.  Now, this is a rather cornball song, but on this particular evening it was the perfect one to play.  I remember playing that song on my sister's CD player because I didn't have one yet, reading along with the lyrics, and wondering how a little weasel like Steve Perry could sing like that.  The whole bar must have some fond memories because they were all singing along arm-in-arm, swaying back-and-forth the way drunks often do.  This particular song also hit me hard because as Steve sang about being apart not being easy on his love affair, I was reminded of the fact that I have been doing the long distance relationship thing for the last 2 years, still seeing each other around once a month, but with just 2 months to go until we're together for good, it's harder than ever.

Thanks for listening and for "stand (ing) by me" all these years, 7 Readers.

And now, an 8-year-old Filipino girl absolutely crushing "Faithfully" by Journey.

Latino Orville Redenbacher

I was at a bar a couple weekends ago, and I was randomly having beers with a guy who owned a pet store in the neighborhood.  He was funny as hell and talked a lot about playing on a men's hardball league three or four nights a week.  Another guy saddled up to the bar right between us in an old school suit, bow tie, and a mustache (I hate when people do that).  Pet Store Guy said to him, "Who the hell are you?  Latino Orville Redenbacher?"  I laughed my ass off because I just love it when people peg the exact person someone looks like, especially when it's a goofy mash up combo of people like this one.

Now just Latino-zize him, and you would see what I saw.

Also, I stole this game from over at Dr. Zibb's page (Check him out; he's funny.  We must hit it off because we're both blog doctors): What you do is post a band's photo and the readers say who all the guys look like.  I'll pick the best/funniest answers for each band member for a master list.  And here we go . . .

And you can't say they look like Journey.  Or they look like dorks.  

Friday afternoon was just about the nicest day of the year in Chicago, and I thought I would ride my bike down the lakefront to coach first base for a friend’s elementary boys softball game. The kids were all friendly and having a good time, but one thing was clear: there are a lot of city kids who don’t know the rules of baseball. As a child of suburbia, we had all the rules down pat by the end of the 2nd or 3rd grade. With these kids, it was nearly impossible to teach most of them that you can overrun first base, or run through the bag, as we used to say. They were slamming on the breaks and nearly falling down as a result. Taking a lead off was also confusing for them, and we were getting picked off of first like all day long. They would usually get back to the base on time when the pitcher threw over there, but sometimes they would start their lead off again while the first baseman still had the ball, and they would promptly get tagged out. One kid got out to a couple steps for his lead off, turned to ask me a question, and failed to see that the pitcher was throwing over there to pick him off, which he did. We were all having a laugh, but not at all at his expense, and the kid was laughing at himself too. More important than whether or not they look like the Yankees out there is that students are getting outside, they’re being exposed to a new game that they may end up enjoying, and they are part of a team.

I got talking to the other school’s coach, and he said they only have seven eighth graders in their entire school. They had to put a fifth grader in the lineup to round out the team, and he was small even for a fifth grader. I thought for sure he was a batboy until I saw him come up to the plate and beat out a pretty hard hit grounder. Most likely due to enrollment, they will be closed at the end of the year. Yes, if the numbers are way down than I’m sure in many ways it makes sense to move those kids into a neighboring school, but if it’s such a failing school in the eyes of the bureaucrats, than why is it that there was a parent spectator for just about every boy on that team, and meanwhile the school I was coaching had zero parents watching for a school over enrolled at close to fifteen hundred students? What I saw there did not appear to have the makings of a failing school; It was a loving and supportive community with terrific kids and coaches who really cared. Their coach told me that it took him four seasons to win their first game, so if that doesn’t show commitment, I don’t know what does. Hell, they beat us something like seventeen to six.

To put in all that time, energy, and hard work day after day as a member of that staff only to have it all suddenly shut down on you has got to be hard to take, especially considering that the people who make the decisions about that building don’t know the first thing about the staff, parents, or kids in it – they just know about the data. Their coach said that the school is across from Mayor Rahm Emanuel’s house. Chicago’s mayor seems big on closing down schools, but I think he should have taken in this ballgame on Friday to put a few faces to the numbers. After all, there are a lot of parents out there quite happy with their children’s public education, and they can’t all afford private schools, especially the ones Rahm’s kids attend.

For the last few weeks, I have been going to bed with this guy.  He isn't too good looking, rather ugly, actually, but he is charming in his own way and he never seems to run out of crazy stories to tell me.  Like the time his ex started dating a 17-year-old kid who blew his own head off playing Russian roulette.  Or all the times he went cold turkey off heroin, trying to climb through the walls thinking there would be dope on the other end.  Yeah, he has struggled with his addictions, and he still probably drinks too much, but he doesn't get drunk.  It's like he says, he can drink and drink, but it doesn't really do much - it's just something he does, like waking up or breathing.  Oh, then there was that time he and his friend Mick basically locked themselves in a kitchen together until they finished writing their first song.  

Okay, now you can probably tell that I'm talking about none other than Keith Richards, and when I say going to bed with, I mean reading his biography every night in bed.  I'm through all the good stuff now and well into the 80's, and it's been one heck of a ride.  I highly recommend you pick up "Life" by Keith Richards.  You might be picturing a bumbling drug addled buffoon just because he is hard to understand and has become such a caricature of himself, but in reality he is a bright and insightful man who just loves music and his good friends, like me.

Only at the Gancer: Another Edition To Song Lyric Analysis

I have done a number of these, either analyzing each and every lyric of a song I like, or in this case, having someone respond to what the singer says - with the singer only responding with actual lyrics.  Does that make sense?  Just read and find out what I'm trying to say here . . .

"We've Got Tonight" by Bob Seger

Bob Seger: I know it's late, I know you're weary 

I know your plans don't include me.

Drunk Girl: I never plan, per say, to have drunk dudes hitting on me.  I just always sorta happens . . .

BS: Still here we are, both of us lonely 

Longing for shelter from all that we see 

DG: Hey, you seem lonely, but don't assume I am.  Actually, I was trying to get back to my friends before you stepped in front of me on my way back from the ladies' room.

BS: Why should we worry, no one will care girl 

Look at the stars so far away 

DG: Oh, now he's going on about the stars.  This is a new one, actually.  And I know for a fact people will certainly care because I see my friends over there laughing at me for entertaining your proposal for this long.  

BS: We've got tonight, who needs tomorrow? 

We've got tonight, babe 
Why don' you stay? 

DG: We can't stay, Bob.  It's past last call and they've turned the lights on, and yeah, you're even less good looking as a result.  

BS: Deep in my soul, I've been so lonely 

All of my hopes, fading away 
I've longed for love, like everyone else does 

I know I'll keep searching, even after today

DG: If I could offer some advice, don't let a girl in on the fact that you're extremely lonely.  The pity approach rarely works.  Exude some confidence, Bob!  Trust me on this.  

BS: So there it is girl, I've said it all now 

And here we are babe, what do you say?

DG: No, I can't.  I seriously have to get up early and . . .

BS: We've got tonight, who needs tomorrow? 

We've got tonight, babe 

Why don't you stay?

BS: Ah, what the hell.  I have done a lot worse, and you make some solid points.  

(meanwhile, back at Bob's shitty apartment)      

BS: We've got tonight, who needs tomorrow? 

Let's make it last, let's find a way 
Turn out the light, come take my hand now 

DG: Yes.  Lights out.  This is for sure a light's out encounter.  Let's just get it done, okay?

fin

I love drinking on airplanes.  To me, the perfect mile high drink is the gin and tonic because it calms the stomach problems that can occur with the altitude.  Also, cocktails are more fun because you get the little bottles of booze to pour into the bubbly and ice, and continuing to pour and drink gives you something to pass the time.  Might as well settle in there and make your tray your own little mini bar!  Sometimes you get one of those little plastic swords to stir with, and those are just fun as hell.

I don't like waiting for stuff so flying is hard for me.  Also, I am a tall drink of water, so I sometimes opt for two cocktails to soothe the pain in my knees.  After all, sometimes it's 1 for 8 and 2 for 11, and that just makes good economic sense right there.

On my last flight I tried to cash in some expired drink tickets to no avail, and forgetting to use those babies was just a God damned disheartening situation.

Does any of this make me sound like an alcoholic?

Old Black Guys Say the Coolest Things . . .

I work with this old Black guy, and when you walk by and say a quick hello, he never says "how ya' doin'" like any other schmo.  He will say things like . . .

"We do what we can."

"You got to work hard around here."

"I got to get in character . . ."

"Can I put somethin' in your ear right quick?" (That's when he wants to tell me some good office dirt)

The beauty of this is, you remember the time you passed this guy in the hall, unlike all the rest of the stiffs you have innocuous hellos and goodbyes with through out your 9 to 5. 

"Do I really have to tell you how much cooler I am than you?"

Try going through your work day like a cool, old, Black man on your next work day, and let me know how it goes . . .

Sexier Than Cats

In case you missed it, a player who named himself Meta World Peace came back from an injury and said the pain couldn't hold him back because he is too sexy for his cat.  He then used that phrase to answer 6 or 7 more questions just for good measure. 



Now, did he just happen to hear Right Said Fred's "I'm Too Sexy" on the way to the stadium that night, and he just figured he would say that a few dozen times?  Could be, but others speculate that he could be on pain killers, and that is causing the 90's one-hit-wonder revival movement.

Give it a look, people. 




Couldn't he have mixed it up every few answers, maybe an "I'm too sexy for Milan.  Too sexy for Milan - New York and Japan . . .

This Post Has No Point . . .

. . . but whatever.

I went to the Bulls game tonight with some good buddies.  On my way home I had to stop at the grocery store to get some socks because I have been too lazy to do my laundry and need some for tomorrow.  I wanted to stop off and get something to eat too, but because I didn't want to make another stop, I got some jalapeno chips and a gatorade.  Socks, chips, gatorade, and this worthless update . . .

I decided I needed to research a few things I was thinking about tonight . . .

1. A guy named Malcolm Thomas checked in for the Bulls and did pretty well for the Bulls tonight, and despite all of us being Chicago sports fans, none of us had heard of him.  It turns out he played for the Bulls' summer league team but ended up playing in Israel before being signed.  Hard guy to figure out a nickname for . . .

2. I was telling my buddy James Douglas Morrison that I have been reading the Keith Richards biography, and he asked if he mentioned the rivalry between the Stones and the Doors.  No, was there one?  I'll look that up too . . . I could find nothing about that on the internet, but if there was one, based on what I have read, I would say it would be about Mick hating on Jim because he was a better-looking front man using his sexuality the way Mick did.  Keith is pretty open about how nutty Mick was about a lot of stuff, but I will say that at least Mick was never nearly as big a junkie as Keith, so there's that . . .

3. This has nothing to do with looking anything up, but I was thinking about it.  Yesterday I get a text from my father that read: "I was saddened to hear of the passing of Annette Funicello.  As a boy watching her in those sweaters on the "Mickey Mouse Club," she made me love boobs.

I went to see Anthrax last night because 16-year-old Dr. Ken would never forgive 36-year-old Dr. Ken if I passed up the chance.  I was in the pit for about 30 seconds, and I felt my hand go into someone's mouth (no idea who's) and touch someone's tongue. That was enough. Incredible concert. Once I washed my hands.  Then we went out and got horribly drunk.

Taking public transit this afternoon to go fetch my car that I left at work, I was eating a bag of combos, a horribly unhealthy snack and the only thing I have eaten all day, and I saw a friend of mine walking towards me.  I was then relieved to realize it wasn't him.  There is absolutely nothing wrong with the guy, and if fact, I like him quite a lot.  It was just the thought of putting forth the effort to have a conversation at that time seemed like a laborious task.  

You ever feel like that?

Reginald

During my recent travels through California, we ended up in a surprisingly non pretentious cozy little bar in Santa Monica.  It was there, perched at the bar sipping a 151 cocktail, that I met Reginald, a 62-year-old Marine Corps veteran who more than once told me exactly how long he served (something like 21 years, 3 months, and 28 days).  He kept looking back towards the door, saying he was waiting for his 42-year-old fiance to arrive, a woman lucky enough to have the opportunity to become his fifth wife.

I was sipping on tall pints of Boddingtons, and Reginald was appalled that a man like me (I have no idea what kind of man I am) would be drinking beer.  He said it would make my donger soft, but he could not produce any medical journals to back up these facts.  He then boasted that he is still a red blooded stud and younger women can't keep up with him, and in an attempt to prove this, he got down on the floor and did 25 bare knuckle push-ups.  I was convinced and ordered a 151.

After LSD, my lovely girlfriend, came over to say hello, he said to me, "Is that your queen?  She is a thoroughbred!  You have to hold onto that one!"  I will agree.  She is equal parts queen and thoroughbred, and I fully intend to hold onto her.  Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get on the floor for some knuckle push-ups so that I can be in as good of shape and as much of a gentleman as Reginald . . .

Hey, everyone.  I woke up from a nap today and decided I needed to write this.  Hope you enjoy it.  Oh, and to answer the questions from the last post:

1. Yup.  Golf carts are everywhere.  Locals own them, but mostly it is the tourists driving minimal distances.  I would say there were more golf carts than actual cars out there.

2. The pigs were causing too many problems and were all killed off years ago.

3. The buffalo are still there, but you have to get way inland to see them.  They were brought there to film a movie a long time ago, but the movie's budget ran out, so they just left them there, where they have grown in numbers ever since.

4. Yeah, we said that a few times.  We also learned that Marilyn Monroe lived on Catalina for a while before World War Two, Natalie Wood drowned near there, and at one time most of the island was owned by William Wrigley Jr., also the owner of the gum company and the Chicago Cubs.  As a result, the Cubs used to play their spring training games there.

Okay, anyway.  Here's that story that I just wrote that I was telling you about.  Hope you like it:

My mood was that of a sour funk as I walked through the snow past the grades school I went to as a kid, when I slipped on something and had to catch myself with my bare hand, which landed directly into an inch or two of cold snow and concrete.  But there was something in my hand too, it was plastic, horseshoe shaped, and as I looked around, there must have been ten or twelve of them.  It took a second or two for it to dawn on me that they were plastic mouthguards for football and then another few seconds before I put it together that they were there because that class of 5th and 6th graders on the football team had thrown them on the roof at the end of their season, just as I had 20-something years ago.  Dropping that mouthguard into the hot water and popping that hot plastic into your mouth, you felt like a knight preparing his sword for battle, and whipping it up on the roof at the end of a hard fought seasons was an important ceremonial right of passage.  

Our coach back then was a little off his rocker.  He had a crazed look in his eye when he would yell at you where you would not be the least bit surprised if he suddenly wrapped his hands around a scrawny 11-year-old neck.  His rants were often tangental, and looking back, I'm not even sure if he remembered what it was he was mad about by the end of one his motivational browbeatings.  He would get so flustered and outraged at our lack of discipline and athletic ability, that he would get speechless; just angry stairs, looking around at each and every one of us for what seemed like thirty minutes at a stretch, but was probably closer to one or two.  

My hand and the rest of me wasn't even cold anymore, and after all that reminiscing about mouth guards, my coach, and wearing football pads for the first time with my girdle pad slipping off my ass as I tried to keep up during wind sprints, that just like that ranting and pausing coach so long ago, I wasn't even sure what I was mad about to begin with.  

My lady and I are going to Catalina today, a small island off the coast of California.  We don't know much about it, but we have heard these things and will figure out soon which are true:

1. They don't allow cars on the island, so there are golf carts zipping in every direction.  Zips a verb, right?

2. It is overrun with wild pigs.

3. There are wild buffalo on the island too that were not native to the island; they were used in movies and have been growing in numbers ever since.

4. It's impossible to leave without having said "It's the Catalina fucking Wine Mixer!"

I was working in a not-so-good neighborhood on the West Side of Chicago today, and one of my coworkers stepped across the street to get coffee at a greasy spoon called G & N Breakfast.  The older gentleman who said he was the owner asked her nationality, she told him Irish, and he discerned that she is probably a democrat.  Sloppily shoveling his breakfast into his mouth, he then asked if she worked at the school across the street and asked how she can stand working with all those niggers.  She said that's not a word she is okay with, to which he said it should be fine to say that because they call each other that all the time.  Of course, rather than realizing or caring that he had offended his customer, he went on spouting off anti Black statements and said the N in his business' name stood for niggers and the G for some other racial slur (Roughly 70% of his business would be African American on a day-to-day basis).  She was mad, but remaining calm, she just told him that being Greek, he is only a few shades lighter than those he hates so much.  This made him really mad, and he started spitting his hash browns all over the place while he yelling God knows what as she left.

Later I told the Mexican maintenance man (who I call Amigo and he calls me Amigo) at the work site about the exchange, and he said he has known that guy for years and he's a right prick who yells at his staff and calls them idiots all the time in front of customers.  Amigo said he told the guy he would whip his ass if he ever talked to him like that.  Apparently the owner was a Chicago cop who bought the place since 1959 after getting shot in the arm.  Doesn't sound like his world view has changed much since 1959 . . .

So, if you ever want to get in a time machine and meet a real live racist from the days of the Civil Rights movement, go visit him at G & N Breakfast on the West Side of Chicago.  If you would like to bring along some fire hoses and dogs to turn the tides on him, I certainly would not object.

Bill Burr is the funniest dude around right now.  I wish he and I were friends.  That sounds stalker-ish.  I don't mean that.  I just hope he keeps putting out funny stuff like this and calling things like he sees them.

I'm just getting over one of the worst stomach flu's of my life.  I was puking and shooting out pure liquid poops for over 24 hours straight.  It was one of those deals where you get to the toilet and can't decide which need is more "pressing."  Should I sit down for a squirt dump and run the risk of barfing on my lap, or bend over the bowl for a puke and risk blasting a dump all over myself and the tile floor?

If you're still reading, I'm going to the Big Ten basketball tournament with some friends tonight who will be drinking, and although I'm like 90% better, I have decided to not partake in "the sauce" tonight to allow myself to recover.  

I really do hate not drinking when people around me are drinking, and it got me thinking, is it a worse situation for those who don't ever want to drink or for someone who has just decided that he doesn't want to drink?  I have had those friends who come out with everyone to bars, sometimes until four in the morning, and they never drink.  How do they do it?  I try to be understanding of the fact that when people are schnockered all around me and I'm sober, I have been that bad or likely even worse.  Still, I get instantly annoyed and want to drink myself closer to where they're at so I'm not annoyed anymore.  

UPDATE: I just finished this post when I got home.  I had a beer and a half.  

I saw this article on Yahoo News entitled "10 Compliments Men Hate Getting" and thought I would see how I feel about each one.

1. "It's so sweet you want to help me clean up, but I can do it faster myself."

This all depends how lazy I'm feeling that day.  If I would rather watch a ball game or something, I might be okay with her doing it all, but most of the time I don't feel good about letter her clean while I'm chilling.  Am I offended by it?  Not at all.  I'm not that great of a cleaner.

2. "I'm amazed you were able to fix the leaky faucet." 

This wouldn't bother me at all because I would have amazed even myself.

3. "I fold the laundry this way, but thanks for trying without me asking." 

Now this one wouldn't offend me, but it sounds like something a crazy control freak might say, so watch out for this one.  

4. " You're the only person I can talk to." 

These are starting to get into crazy town territory.  If she can't talk to anyone else, it might be because she's an insufferable pain in the ass and you have to put up with her, so don't take that one as a compliment.  

5. "You're so cute!"

This one depends on the context.  Cute can be demeaning if it kind of implies stupid, but usually I'm okay with cute.  

6. "This gift isn't quite my taste, but it's the thought that counts." 

Don't be offended by that.  What do you want her to do?  Pretend she likes it?  You have to be honest with each other - in a nice way.  

7. "It's like you're my third child but I love you anyway." 

This one is hilarious.  Who wouldn't be offended by that?  Yeah, and it's like you're my mommy, so fuck off, mom.  

8. "My husband did the most romantic thing ever." 

I had to read the explanation for this one, and it said that some men will feel "whipped" if their friends hear about stuff like this or they will get mad because now they will feel they have to step up their romantic gestures with their own significant others, neither of which makes sense to me.  Got ahead and tell people nice stuff I did for you - doesn't bother me at all.

9. "I love your tummy flab!" 

Now this one might not offend me, but I would know she was lying.  

10. "You're the best I've ever had." 

The writers said that this just makes a guy think about all the others guys, and yeah, maybe so, but it makes you think about all the other guys being crappier at sex than you, so that's okay, right?  

I was drinking like an animal last night and after last call, LaFontaine and myself decided we needed to pick up an expensive big ass beer at his apartment and come back to my place to listen to "Dark Side of the Moon" because he had never listened to the whole thing in his whole life - a fact I couldn't believe.  We listened to that and like 10 other records that were strewn all over the room when I got up around 1PM this afternoon.

I had a few glasses of wine at sushi with my mom, dad, and sister, and even though I'm tired and shouldn't go out again, I just know I will.

You know that scene in "Interview With a Vampire" where Tom Cruise is all frustrated with Brad Pitt because he is sucking down pig blood and shit to avoid killing people, and Cruise says "Make no mistake, you are a killer!"  Well, substitute killer for drinker, and that's kind of how I feel at times like this.

The Iditarod is going on this week, a race in negative 100 degree temperature where you are pulled on a sled by 8 for 8 or 9 days.  Off the top of my head, I would rather do these 5 things for 8 days straight . . . 

1. Cash in an 8 day pass to the Milli Vanilli museum in Austria.

2. Be homeless in San Diego for 8 days.

3. Eat nothing but Taco Bell for 8 days without the use of toilet paper.

4. Not masturbate for 8 days (I might get on the sled and have a wank in the cold after 4 days . . .)

5. Wash Honey Boo Boo's mom's necks for 8 straight mornings.  

That's three necks by my count.


What about you, Seven Readers?  What might you do instead?

I got an invite from Uncle Al to go to a Replacements night over at Delilah's, a punk bar around the corner from my house, but I was in a shitty depressed mood so I just watched the Replacements documentary that they were going to be showing at the bar in the confines of my own apartment.  I was loving it, but midway through Uncle Al texted me: "Does this thing have any live footage or music from the band or is it just dorks talking about the band?"  It was just fans talking about the band, and I absolutely loved it.

I can sit around talking about music for a lot longer than most, and as it turns out, I can watch other people talk about music for a good while too.  This band meant so much to some of these people, especially those from Minnesota, and one guy pointed out that there is a Replacements song for just about any occasion, from a wedding to a funeral.

Watching this thing, I was thinking of how many bands out of the 100's on my iTunes could I actually sit down and be interviewed about for an hour, and the answer is around 5 or 6.  The band has to really mean something to you to be able to expound passionately for that long.  Even if I know that Bob Dylan and the Beatles are great, what can I say about them that hasn't already been said?  Yeah, three out of those 4 Beatles would be the best songwriter in just about any other band and blah, blah, blah, but someone certainly already pointed that out.  What matters is what that band meant to you at the time you heard them.

It would be great if at this time I wrote a sentence about each one of those 5 or 6 bands, but I'm just too tired right now, so why don't you guys do that and I'll respond with something interesting.

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?

Snow Job

There was a G.I. Joe guy who came with a snowmobile, dressed in a white snowsuit, and his name was Snow Job.  If you're a guy around my age, you know it's true.  What the hell were they thinking?  Yes, the term can mean "an intensive effort at persuasion or deception," but you just know the parents who bought that action figure for their kids were thinking of the other definition, the one maybe mom had wished she had done instead that night so she wouldn't have had that damn kid she now has to buy war mongering toys for.  That was maybe too far . . .

I'm not sure  the military had a the "don't ask don't tell" policy back then, but can it be any gayer that his name was Figure Skater and his codename was Snow Job?  Pretty clear which way old Snow Job was leaning with his sexual preference, not that there is anything wrong with doing . . . figure skating.  

I bet he got ragged all the time by the other members of G.I. Joe, guys like Flint and Shipwreck, really any of them without fellatious names.  

Snowjobs special skills: Driving snowmobiles, winter survival, winter combat tactics, and sucking penises in the subarctic temperatures. 

Hooray! A New Gross Phrase . . .

My good friend, Big Business, and I just came up with a new fun phrase for the Urban Dictionary.  Big Business works terrible, terrible hours and raises his brother's two daughters, so I like to text back and forth with him a few times a day to make him laugh and keep him doing what he's doing.  I guess he does the same for me, come to think of it . . .

In any event, here it is:

1. The Pert (Plus) Spirt:
(n) When you squeeze the shampoo bottle right at climax to stimulate a monster load.

I damn near emptied the whole shampoo bottle with this morning's Pert Squirt! 
---------------------------------

Something wrong about using this pic, but whatever.  It's all wrong around here.

*It turns out there is already an urban dictionary definition for a pert squirt but it's stupid and doesn't make much sense.  All future additions should be approved by Big Business and the good Doctor . . . 

Hot Ugly People

The last two nights I have watched like 9 episodes of "Prisoners of War," a series from Israel that was later adapted for America as Showtime's "Homeland."  I guess when things aren't going your way, watching a show about guys being tortured in captivity for 17 years kind of puts things in perspective.

One of the characters who is released and comes back to his family after all those years learns that he has a slutty but loveable daughter who is obsessed with meeting old dudes on the internet and sleeping with them.  She is played by an incredible actress who is pretty odd looking yet incredibly hot because you just like the character so much.  It might be that she blurts things out that make those around her uncomfortable that I find endearing.

She looks prettier than usual here and even more Alanis Morissette.

Anyway, can you think of anyone who is decidedly funny looking yet still hot, male or female?  I will spot you a hey day Ellen Barkin . . . 

Aren't they doing something backwards in the bottom left?  That's trying to put an inny in an inny.  

I was driving home late tonight from an Oscar party at The Uncle's place, and an odd fellow was crossing the street in front of me.  It is a freezing Chicago night, yet he had on no coat, just a white turtleneck.  He was listening to headphones and looked very, very drunk.  Then he started stretching his arms out and looked as if he was psyching himself up for something big.  Sure enough, he started skipping.  Next he turned a couple of cartwheels!  This guy was on something really good.  By the looks of it, his Oscar party was better than mine. 

A to Z Farts

Well, the last blog was about pooping, and I'm sorry to say that this one is about farting.  Now, without thinking about each letter for more than a few seconds, I give you every type of fart from A to Z.

A - Aroma therapy fart
B - Barrage of farts
C - Chimichanga fart
D - Dangerous fart
E - Effervescing fart
F - Full blast fart
G - Gorgeous fart
H - Helluva fart
I - Impossibly bad fart
J - Joyous fart
K - Kissed by a fart
L - Lackluster fart
M - Mediocre fart (seem to be hitting the run of the mill farts around here)
N - Napalm strike fart
O - Omnipotent farting
P - Perennial
Q - Quit farting already fart!
R - Relaxed fart
S - Sharting fart (or perhaps the snart, when you sneeze and a fart eeks out - Thank you, Chudd).
T - Treacherous fart
U - Unmistakably a fart
V - Vicious fart
W - Wasn't a fart at all.  Must have been the leather couch cushion .
X - X-men fart (mutant power farts)
Y - Yes, that was my fart.
Z - Zangief holding you down and farting on you fart.

"Ref!  Help!  Can he do that?"

Your mission, readers, if you choose to accept it, is to take one of these types of farts and describe it in detail.  That or just say what an idiot I am or whatever else you wanna say.  

High Dive. Bomb's Away!!

If you have been reading this thing for a while, you know that I don't hide from you the fact that I drink and make bad decisions.  This started at an early age.  I was by my mom and dad's house yesterday, and when I drove past the private pool around the corner from them, I said to myself, "Oh yeah, that's the pool I used to break into for a swim at 2AM when I was drunk."  Now, that sounds like something a lot of kids do, but alone?  That's just weird.  And even worse is that I took dumps in the pool, which is just thoughtless because someone would have to start their morning cleaning up the dump that I should have taken in a perfectly good toilet.  One step worse is that I pooped off the high dive, which is a challenge to dangle your butt off the edge, twenty feet in the air, and then jump over your own poop.  I was more agile in those days but just as stupid. 

Someone found it.

I wish I could say I have grown up a lot since then.  I have, but it has taken a long, long time.  This Friday I didn't go out drinking at all, and then Saturday I got tired and went home early (for me), and I feel pretty good; might even make it to the gym, where I will swim and not poop. 

I'm MC'ing my buddy Choo-Choo's karaoke birthday party at a bar around the corner, and I'm oddly excited about it.  People often ask me to do stuff like this, so I guess I'm just good at being a great big loudmouth.  The key to this one is just doing the nudey bar DJ voice all night long, "All right, give it up for Lace on the main stage!"  It works for all kinds of events, garage sales, church bingo . . .

To be honest, Choo-Choo is a quality human being and I'm glad I know him so anything I can do to help is not a problem.  Also, it is customary for the karaoke DJ to sing the first song when no one has signed up yet.  I'll sing whichever one I like the best out of the comments submitted by you all, my beloved 7 readers.

This video is what it's all about.  She passes out in the middle of her "performance."

Gawking Gung Ho

I was out with some coworkers the other night, and Gung Ho was saying how there is a woman we work with who always covers up her chest when she talks to him, either adjusting a scarf, pulling a shirt closed, or what have you.  He says this is because he is often caught inadvertently staring at her boobs.  Later we got talking about a coworker with unfortunate dental work who recently paid big money to get them fixed.  Gung Ho was describing how they were before, and he was able to describe perfectly in which direction each tooth faced.  We were all laughing, wondering just how closely he was looking, and he said that the guy often covered up his mouth when talking to Gung Ho.

If anyone out there has interesting teeth and a big chest, she will have to keep very busy covering up when talking to good old Gung Ho . . .

"I'll drink to those, I mean that."

I Was Looking Over My Text Messages Today . . .

. . . and I saw one from Saturday night that read "Look to your left.  Matching sushi shirts."

My sister and I were out for sushi at a nice bring your own wine place enjoying a cool and crisp chardonnay (any cheap Chard' tastes like butter to me), and sure enough, to my left were a pair of nerdy twenty-somethings with matching shirts with pictures of sushi on them that read "That's how I roll."  She texted me this information because didn't want to say it out loud because they were one foot away from us.  We had a hard time not laughing, and I had to run off to the bathroom because it was just so damned goofy.

When their order came I saw that the shirts didn't lie because they had in front of them more sushi than any two humans should be able to consume in one sitting.  I texted my sister back, "We should have asked them what they got before we ordered because they God damned professionals."  

We had a good time.  I love weirdos.  Takes one to know one, I suppose.  

The Special Shower Convo's

We all nab the handicapped bathroom even when there are other vacant options because everyone likes a little more spacious area when you're doing your thing, and maybe even a couple of coat hooks to get really comfortable.  However, when I was in a hurry to shower up before a swim at the gym and the handicapped shower (the one with the chair) was the only one left, now that's one I can't do.  

A guy could really spend some QT in there.

This location of my gym has shower doors that only go up to your shoulders so you can see the busts of people showering across from you, and that is just weird.  What was even weirder was when two slightly overweight men saddle up next to each other in the handicapped shower, not to shower but to have a conversation, now that is just plain dumbfounding and kind of draws a crowd. I couldn't make out much of what was being said but they were both very serious and the word leadership was used more than once.  While I was getting out of the water after my swim, the same two guys went walking past me continuing to discuss their opinions about leadership, probably after taking a jacuzzi together.  

They were serious men.  I guess that's while I'll always be a follower and they'll be leaders.  And I'll be showering alone and they'll be showering each other.

"I don't always shower with men, but when I do, I drink Hamm's"

Godforsaken Updates . . .

- I had way too much to drink Friday and Saturday, and then I had some more on Superbowl Sunday.  That 3rd day in a row is always the one that catches up with you during the work week, and I know this, but you're not not going to drink for the Superbowl, right?  They need to move that darn game to a Saturday.  I was over at my sister's place and her piss poor neighbors all went home at halftime, and I started falling asleep after 4 or 5 Guinness.  Then her really fun neighbor came over with a bottle of Mike Ditka wine, so I had to try some wine made by "Da Coach."  I didn't have to drink from the next bottle of wine opened, but I did.

- I'm going to Austin, Texas later this month for the first time with LSD, who is finishing up school out in Los Angeles, in case you're a new reader or forgot.  We get together once a month in one of our cities or a neutral one, and this is one I'm really excited about.  The really fun neighbor I mentioned a minute ago heard that I was going there and said, "Ooh!  That's where they have all the bats!"  She is convinced that it is a city overrun with wild bats.  You would think I would have heard about that by now . . .

- My sister and I made fun of her, but it turns out she's right.  Just look at all those bats!