Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Creepy Ginger Kid.
Talk about losing the lottery. You have a kid. He turns out to be red-headed. And fat. And creepy looking. AND he eats ice cream like this. In public. And on TV. This kid would crush a Ziggy Piggy.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Stories of Escalating Grossness.
I know that I haven't been updating this site for a while, but rest assured that I've still been collecting stories about my batshit crazy coworker. Please know that what I'm about to recount is jaw-droppingly inappropriate and pretty vulgar. Just remember that all of these stories occurred at work and in public.
A few months ago I was giving Batshit Crazy Lady shit about how much crap she had in and around her desk. She still had all the stuff I listed in a previous post, but now she had added a Halloween mask (even though its spring), a Santa hat (again, its spring), empty donut boxes, and a Thighmaster.
"Why in the world do you have a Thighmaster here? Take. It. Home! I haven't see you use it once since you've been here."
"I know, but I'm going to start to use it. Plus it's really good for my Kegels."
"Cankles?" I ask, already knowing that wasn't what she had said, but still hoping otherwise.
"No, Kegels," she replied.
"Jesus."
"Do you know what Kegels are?"
"Ugh, yes, I know what they-"
"They are exercises for vaginal muscles."
"I SAID I KNOW! You're really grossing me out."
"Are you going to report me to HR?" She's not worried, just curious.
"No, just stop telling me shit like that. Especially right before lunch."
"Okay, I'm sorry. I'll stop...it's just that they are really beneficial -"
"Seriously? You're still talking?"
"Okay, okay. I just wanted you to know, that's all."
"Thanks for the tip."
***
It was shortly after this conversation/horrifying revelation that I requested to move my desk away from hers. My boss, knowing full well how crazy Batshit Crazy Lady actually is, complied. But it wasn't long before her craziness crept back into my life.
At my new desk I sit next to a guy name T. He is easy going and laid back and we're about the same age so we get along pretty well. T and I both work a later shift than the rest of the people in our department. Unfortunately so does BCL. About a month ago, towards the end of the day, I see T and another coworker I'm friends with, Elle, both talking to BCL. They both keep laughing like crazy and covering their faces with their hands. They were laughing harder than I'd ever seen either of them laugh before. Though this piqued my interest to see what was so fucking funny, I knew better to get involved since they were talking to BCL, which is never good. Then an IM pop up on my computer screen. It is from Elle.
Elle: This lady is out of control. LOL. Can you hear what she's saying?
Me: Nope, and I don't think I wanna hear...she's crazy.
Elle: For real
Me: Yeah, I'm not joking. She's nuts.
Elle: And dirty too. You wouldn't believe what she's sayin
Me: I'd believe it. I used to sit next to her, remember?
Elle: She told T she only dates black guys.
(Both T and Elle are black. BCL is white. In case you were curious.)
Me: Of course she does.
Elle: And that she enjoys facials!
Me: Shut up. She didn't say that.
Elle: YES SHE DID!!!!!!!!
Me: Then she didn't mean it like that. She's retarded. She probably just meant massages.
Elle: No she meant it like the other facial
Me: Seriously, why would she even tell you guys that?
Elle: I don't fucking know! It's not like I asked her if she liked em
Me: Jesus, she is disgusting. What did she say when you and T started laughing?
Elle: She asked us what was so funny.
Me: She has to be retarded. Has to be.
Elle: I can't stop laughing...shes STILL talking about it!
Me: You're gonna make me throw up.
BCL then steps away from her desk and T comes back to his desk. T doesn't waste any time.
"That lady is off the chain! For real, man..."
"Yeah, I heard. Elle was IMing me about it. You know she couldn't have meant it like that."
"What? You mean about the facials?"
"Yeah, there's no way."
"Oh, there's no doubt she meant it like that. 'Cuz she kept going on about it. We started laughing when she first said it 'cuz it's so gross and like why would you tell your coworkers that? I mean I was already creeped out when she looked right at me and told me that she only dates black guys. And then she goes and tells us she likes facials. Me and Elle just busted up and she asks why we're laughing. She goes 'what is so funny about liking it when they finish on my face?' I thought Elle was gonna pee in her pants.
"You know...every time I think BCL can't possibly put a grosser image in my head, she comes back and does. What is her problem?
T stops laughing and gets serious. "Oh, she's got more than just one problem. Believe that."
***
Things were relatively slow after that, until the 60 year-old southern lady that sits next to plopped down at her desk on Thursday in a huff and exclaimed, "I don't even want to tell you what just happened in the bathroom!"
My response was immediate. "Yes you do. What happened?"
"It's Batshit Crazy Lady. That girl is sick."
"Oh dear God, what happened?"
"I can't tell you, it's just gross."
Now, I realized that I was talking to an old lady and was well aware that her idea of gross was probably much different than mine. Someone cutting a loud fart could be gross to her, while for my group of friends, cutting a loud fart is a proud accomplishment, worthy of a mass text informing everyone of the loudness and smelliness of said fart. So I knew I had to clarify what my co-worker meant by "gross."
"What, did she have some loud gas or something? Or a stinky doodie?" (My coworker is a sweet old lady I didn't want to offend her with coarse language, so I tried to be as polite as possible.)
"No, it wasn't that. C'mon that's what people do in the bathroom."
"Did she go number 2 and then try to show you?"
"Come on now, you're bein' silly."
"Well then what'd she do? Was she outside of the stall or inside it?"
"She was in the stall and me and another gal were both washing our hands at the sinks. And she was being...loud."
"Haha, she was being loud while pooping?
My coworker winces a little, raises her eyebrows and shakes her her head no.
I stop laughing when I realize she wasn't talking about pooping. "No!"
Her head switches from going left and right to up and down.
"NO!"
"I didn't know what to do. I didn't even know the gal next to me and she just looks at me and goes..."
My coworker then mouths "what." "the." "fuck?"
"Jim, she was being loud."
"Noooo!"
"I finally called out for her and asked if everything was alright in there and she says 'ohhhh yeeeaaaah.' Just like that. I can't even tell you what else she was saying. I just can't. I can't repeat it. That girl's a sick puppy though. I'll tell you that much!"
"Oh my god, that is disgusting. Who does that?"
"That's the worst part, Jim. She comes out of the stall and says "Whew, what a thrill!" And I make a face, because come on now. And she says ''You've never done that before?' Like I'm the weird one. I tell ya, she is NOT right."
"What did the other lady do who was in there? What'd she say about it?"
"I don't know. I'd never seen her before. She probably quit and went home after that."
I then ask her if she's going to tell our boss about it or go to HR. She gives me a look and says "Honey, if you're thinking I'm ever repeating that story to anyone else, you're more cuckoo than she is. She's gross and I'm done talking about it. She's gonna end up doing something around the wrong person, and then you watch the shit hit the fan."
I can't wait.
A few months ago I was giving Batshit Crazy Lady shit about how much crap she had in and around her desk. She still had all the stuff I listed in a previous post, but now she had added a Halloween mask (even though its spring), a Santa hat (again, its spring), empty donut boxes, and a Thighmaster.
"Why in the world do you have a Thighmaster here? Take. It. Home! I haven't see you use it once since you've been here."
"I know, but I'm going to start to use it. Plus it's really good for my Kegels."
"Cankles?" I ask, already knowing that wasn't what she had said, but still hoping otherwise.
"No, Kegels," she replied.
"Jesus."
"Do you know what Kegels are?"
"Ugh, yes, I know what they-"
"They are exercises for vaginal muscles."
"I SAID I KNOW! You're really grossing me out."
"Are you going to report me to HR?" She's not worried, just curious.
"No, just stop telling me shit like that. Especially right before lunch."
"Okay, I'm sorry. I'll stop...it's just that they are really beneficial -"
"Seriously? You're still talking?"
"Okay, okay. I just wanted you to know, that's all."
"Thanks for the tip."
***
It was shortly after this conversation/horrifying revelation that I requested to move my desk away from hers. My boss, knowing full well how crazy Batshit Crazy Lady actually is, complied. But it wasn't long before her craziness crept back into my life.
At my new desk I sit next to a guy name T. He is easy going and laid back and we're about the same age so we get along pretty well. T and I both work a later shift than the rest of the people in our department. Unfortunately so does BCL. About a month ago, towards the end of the day, I see T and another coworker I'm friends with, Elle, both talking to BCL. They both keep laughing like crazy and covering their faces with their hands. They were laughing harder than I'd ever seen either of them laugh before. Though this piqued my interest to see what was so fucking funny, I knew better to get involved since they were talking to BCL, which is never good. Then an IM pop up on my computer screen. It is from Elle.
Elle: This lady is out of control. LOL. Can you hear what she's saying?
Me: Nope, and I don't think I wanna hear...she's crazy.
Elle: For real
Me: Yeah, I'm not joking. She's nuts.
Elle: And dirty too. You wouldn't believe what she's sayin
Me: I'd believe it. I used to sit next to her, remember?
Elle: She told T she only dates black guys.
(Both T and Elle are black. BCL is white. In case you were curious.)
Me: Of course she does.
Elle: And that she enjoys facials!
Me: Shut up. She didn't say that.
Elle: YES SHE DID!!!!!!!!
Me: Then she didn't mean it like that. She's retarded. She probably just meant massages.
Elle: No she meant it like the other facial
Me: Seriously, why would she even tell you guys that?
Elle: I don't fucking know! It's not like I asked her if she liked em
Me: Jesus, she is disgusting. What did she say when you and T started laughing?
Elle: She asked us what was so funny.
Me: She has to be retarded. Has to be.
Elle: I can't stop laughing...shes STILL talking about it!
Me: You're gonna make me throw up.
BCL then steps away from her desk and T comes back to his desk. T doesn't waste any time.
"That lady is off the chain! For real, man..."
"Yeah, I heard. Elle was IMing me about it. You know she couldn't have meant it like that."
"What? You mean about the facials?"
"Yeah, there's no way."
"Oh, there's no doubt she meant it like that. 'Cuz she kept going on about it. We started laughing when she first said it 'cuz it's so gross and like why would you tell your coworkers that? I mean I was already creeped out when she looked right at me and told me that she only dates black guys. And then she goes and tells us she likes facials. Me and Elle just busted up and she asks why we're laughing. She goes 'what is so funny about liking it when they finish on my face?' I thought Elle was gonna pee in her pants.
"You know...every time I think BCL can't possibly put a grosser image in my head, she comes back and does. What is her problem?
T stops laughing and gets serious. "Oh, she's got more than just one problem. Believe that."
***
Things were relatively slow after that, until the 60 year-old southern lady that sits next to plopped down at her desk on Thursday in a huff and exclaimed, "I don't even want to tell you what just happened in the bathroom!"
My response was immediate. "Yes you do. What happened?"
"It's Batshit Crazy Lady. That girl is sick."
"Oh dear God, what happened?"
"I can't tell you, it's just gross."
Now, I realized that I was talking to an old lady and was well aware that her idea of gross was probably much different than mine. Someone cutting a loud fart could be gross to her, while for my group of friends, cutting a loud fart is a proud accomplishment, worthy of a mass text informing everyone of the loudness and smelliness of said fart. So I knew I had to clarify what my co-worker meant by "gross."
"What, did she have some loud gas or something? Or a stinky doodie?" (My coworker is a sweet old lady I didn't want to offend her with coarse language, so I tried to be as polite as possible.)
"No, it wasn't that. C'mon that's what people do in the bathroom."
"Did she go number 2 and then try to show you?"
"Come on now, you're bein' silly."
"Well then what'd she do? Was she outside of the stall or inside it?"
"She was in the stall and me and another gal were both washing our hands at the sinks. And she was being...loud."
"Haha, she was being loud while pooping?
My coworker winces a little, raises her eyebrows and shakes her her head no.
I stop laughing when I realize she wasn't talking about pooping. "No!"
Her head switches from going left and right to up and down.
"NO!"
"I didn't know what to do. I didn't even know the gal next to me and she just looks at me and goes..."
My coworker then mouths "what." "the." "fuck?"
"Jim, she was being loud."
"Noooo!"
"I finally called out for her and asked if everything was alright in there and she says 'ohhhh yeeeaaaah.' Just like that. I can't even tell you what else she was saying. I just can't. I can't repeat it. That girl's a sick puppy though. I'll tell you that much!"
"Oh my god, that is disgusting. Who does that?"
"That's the worst part, Jim. She comes out of the stall and says "Whew, what a thrill!" And I make a face, because come on now. And she says ''You've never done that before?' Like I'm the weird one. I tell ya, she is NOT right."
"What did the other lady do who was in there? What'd she say about it?"
"I don't know. I'd never seen her before. She probably quit and went home after that."
I then ask her if she's going to tell our boss about it or go to HR. She gives me a look and says "Honey, if you're thinking I'm ever repeating that story to anyone else, you're more cuckoo than she is. She's gross and I'm done talking about it. She's gonna end up doing something around the wrong person, and then you watch the shit hit the fan."
I can't wait.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Know Your Audience
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Mother
Mother,
On this day I wanted to give you thanks for telling me not to walk Glen Danzig's way, and for telling me not to hear his words., so I wouldn't hear what they mean and what they say.
Mother, thank you for trying to keep me in the dark for life and for trying to hide me from the waiting world.
Mother, thank you for telling me not to hold Glen Danzig's hand. And telling me not to understand. Oh Mother, thanks.
But Mother? Glen Danzig is not going to see the light. And if you want to find hell with him, he'll show you what it's like...until you're bleeding.
So Mother, don't bang heads with him, okay?
Love,
JFunk
Sunday, April 05, 2009
A Night of Culture
I had to work yesterday for the first half of the MSU game, but was looking to go somewhere to watch the second half. I had talked to my buddy Kevin earlier in the day and he told me that he was at the bar with 5 Mile and Fake Jason Bennett. (He is fake because when my group of friends met him we already had a friend whose name was Jason Bennett and we needed a way to differentiate them, so we started calling him Fake Jason Bennett. But some of my friends like 5 Mile and Hodges and Bubs knew Fake Jason Bennett before they knew the Jason Bennett I was friends with, so they started calling him Real Jason Bennett. So basically we’ve made it more confusing than it ever was and accomplished nothing but giving the two Jason Bennett’s nicknames neither of them want.)
ANYWAY, I decide to meet them up at the White Rhino, where they’ve been since 2. (I didn’t realize this until I got there.) When I show up, the place is packed and Kevin is nowhere to be found. From the look and sound of it, 5 Mile and Fake Bennett aren’t the only ones who’ve been drinking all day. Everyone was loud and obnoxious. The place is the epitome of a Redford bar and has been a neighborhood staples for decades. (It’s the old Bullwinkles.) If you didn’t know where the bar was located and had to guess based only on the clientele, Redford would be one of your first guesses. I find 5 Mile and Fake Bennett sitting at the rail, and immediately realize they are both on walking blackouts.
5 Mile tries to put me in a headlock as his way of saying hello and Fake Bennett just keeps calling me a “sandbagging son of a bitch” and laughing. I fight off 5 Mile and tell him to relax only to have him stare at me – his eyes glazed like Krispy Kremes – and ask “what?” like he doesn’t know he's acting like an asshole. I can already tell this is going to be a shit show.
After telling me that Kevin left awhile ago to eat dinner with his family, 5 Mile gets up from his seat and lets me sit down so that he can stand and hit on the lady next to him. She was in her late 30’s and a bleach blonde. She had big boobs, but her gut made her look like she was doing an impression of a beanbag chair. Fake Bennett agreed with my assessment. How do I know this? Because he kept whispering it to me every 5 minutes. And by whispering I mean yelling.
“She’s got nice tits, but man I can’t handle that spare tire she’s got on her gut. Do you see it, JFunk? That gut? So many rolls dude! Big tits though!” I kept agreeing with Fake Bennett as quietly as possible, because I was pretty sure the Beanbag Lady or her boyfriend - who looked like he loved to fight and was good at it - would hear us considering that she was sitting right next to me and he was one seat away. But the close proximity of the boyfriend didn’t dissuade Fake Bennett’s brutally honest critiquing or 5 Mile’s blatant flirting. I don’t anything could’ve. They were fucking hammered and in their own world.
After about 20 minutes, Fake Bennett is nearly falling asleep. His girlfriend keeps elbowing him whenever his head is about to hit the bar. 5 Mile is still talking to Beanbag and has now made friends with her boyfriend and his meathead buddy. 5 Mile then decides that he and Fake Bennett need to drink the Raspberry Bombs that have been in front of them since I got there. Fake Bennett’s girlfriend wakes him up so he can do his. I watch Bennett down his shot and I grimace in sympathy. Fake Bennett immediately winces and puts hits head down on the bar and rests it in the crook of his bent elbow. He waits a beat and then gets up and race-walks to the bathroom.
I turn around to face 5 Mile to let him know that Bennett is about to barf only to see 5 standing like a zombie, with his chin completely covered in puke. I look down and there is a mess at his feet. He’s just standing there doing nothing.
“Jesus, 5 that’s disgusting. Wipe that shit off,” I yell as I throw a stack of napkins at him. He leaves the napkins, grabs the hard plastic mug that the Raspberry Bombs came in and proceeds to use the rim to scrape and collect the puke off his chin. Then he quietly pukes/spits a little bit more into the mug and places it on the back edge of the bar for the bartender to take it. He does this with no sense of urgency or embarrassment. At this point, I’m ready to throw up from the display. I pour some of my beer in the mug to cover up the puke a bit and give 5 some more napkins.
5 Mile then tries to explain his actions. “That wasn’t a Raspberry Bomb. That was a Cherry Bomb. I fucking hate cherry. I can’t do it. I fucking hate cherry. I don’t like anything cherry…except Hostess Cherry Pies. Seriously, I can’t do anything cherry – that’s why I puked.” Yeah, it was that cherry flavoring that made him puke, not the fifty shots he did before that. Fake Bennett returns from the bathroom and announces that he threw up 7 times. 5 Mile decides to celebrate this news by ordering another round of shots – this time making sure they are raspberry and not cherry.
For the rest of the game things went relatively smoothly. 5 Mile kept hitting on the Beanbag Lady and Fake Bennett had stopped dozing off and was now concentrating on trying to break up with his girlfriend. When the game ended, 5 Mile tried to collect on a $20 bet he made with the boyfriend of the beanbag before the game that State would win. They were joking around with each other about the bet, and the guy put a twenty on the bar under 5 Mile’s beer. 5 Mile didn’t notice this, so Fake Bennett leaned over and grabbed it when no one but me was looking.
“Bennett, put it back, man. You’re gonna start a fight over that,” I pleaded.
“Naw, it’s fine. They won’t even notice. I’ll use it to pay the tab anyway.”
He then filled out a Keno form and gave it to the bartender along with the twenty.
“How is that paying the tab?”
“Well once we win, it will.”
And that’s when I tapped out. I’d had enough. It was only a matter of time until one of these two drunks pissed the wrong person (or each other) off and cause trouble, and I didn’t want any part of it. There was no way I was going to catch up to them buzz-wise – not that I wanted to – and it’s no secret how little fun it is to be the only sober person in a group of drunks. So I waited until 5 was in deep conversation about Michigan versus State, and Fake Bennett was telling his girlfriend that he could kick her ass at ping pong and I got out of my seat and bee lined to my car, never looking back.
I don't hear from 5 again until this afternoon. We had the following text message exchange:
5 Mile: What a damn train wreck yesterday was. Holy hell.
Me: No shit. You were a mess.
5 Mile: Shit happens. It was all pretty much a disaster.
Me: Where'd you end up?
5 Mile: We went to Doc's and then stayed at Bennett's.
Me: How'd you get to Doc's? Do you remember it at all?
5 Mile: We got there by cab. I remember being at the bar and all that, just not leaving Doc's. End of the nite was a blur. Did make out with a twiz at Doc's tho...weird.
Me: I bet that twiz loved the taste of your vomit.
5 Mile: It was masked with beer and alcohol. She didn't stand a chance of knowing.
Me. So solid by you.
5 Mile: I'm a very clever lad.
Me: Ha. Classy too.
5 Mile. I'm all about class. It's my new thing.
Me: And now you get to be classy all over again on Monday nite.
5 Mile: It won't get rowdy like that again tomorrow. I can't do it if I wanna survive. Would make the week be garbage.
Me: Word.
ANYWAY, I decide to meet them up at the White Rhino, where they’ve been since 2. (I didn’t realize this until I got there.) When I show up, the place is packed and Kevin is nowhere to be found. From the look and sound of it, 5 Mile and Fake Bennett aren’t the only ones who’ve been drinking all day. Everyone was loud and obnoxious. The place is the epitome of a Redford bar and has been a neighborhood staples for decades. (It’s the old Bullwinkles.) If you didn’t know where the bar was located and had to guess based only on the clientele, Redford would be one of your first guesses. I find 5 Mile and Fake Bennett sitting at the rail, and immediately realize they are both on walking blackouts.
5 Mile tries to put me in a headlock as his way of saying hello and Fake Bennett just keeps calling me a “sandbagging son of a bitch” and laughing. I fight off 5 Mile and tell him to relax only to have him stare at me – his eyes glazed like Krispy Kremes – and ask “what?” like he doesn’t know he's acting like an asshole. I can already tell this is going to be a shit show.
After telling me that Kevin left awhile ago to eat dinner with his family, 5 Mile gets up from his seat and lets me sit down so that he can stand and hit on the lady next to him. She was in her late 30’s and a bleach blonde. She had big boobs, but her gut made her look like she was doing an impression of a beanbag chair. Fake Bennett agreed with my assessment. How do I know this? Because he kept whispering it to me every 5 minutes. And by whispering I mean yelling.
“She’s got nice tits, but man I can’t handle that spare tire she’s got on her gut. Do you see it, JFunk? That gut? So many rolls dude! Big tits though!” I kept agreeing with Fake Bennett as quietly as possible, because I was pretty sure the Beanbag Lady or her boyfriend - who looked like he loved to fight and was good at it - would hear us considering that she was sitting right next to me and he was one seat away. But the close proximity of the boyfriend didn’t dissuade Fake Bennett’s brutally honest critiquing or 5 Mile’s blatant flirting. I don’t anything could’ve. They were fucking hammered and in their own world.
After about 20 minutes, Fake Bennett is nearly falling asleep. His girlfriend keeps elbowing him whenever his head is about to hit the bar. 5 Mile is still talking to Beanbag and has now made friends with her boyfriend and his meathead buddy. 5 Mile then decides that he and Fake Bennett need to drink the Raspberry Bombs that have been in front of them since I got there. Fake Bennett’s girlfriend wakes him up so he can do his. I watch Bennett down his shot and I grimace in sympathy. Fake Bennett immediately winces and puts hits head down on the bar and rests it in the crook of his bent elbow. He waits a beat and then gets up and race-walks to the bathroom.
I turn around to face 5 Mile to let him know that Bennett is about to barf only to see 5 standing like a zombie, with his chin completely covered in puke. I look down and there is a mess at his feet. He’s just standing there doing nothing.
“Jesus, 5 that’s disgusting. Wipe that shit off,” I yell as I throw a stack of napkins at him. He leaves the napkins, grabs the hard plastic mug that the Raspberry Bombs came in and proceeds to use the rim to scrape and collect the puke off his chin. Then he quietly pukes/spits a little bit more into the mug and places it on the back edge of the bar for the bartender to take it. He does this with no sense of urgency or embarrassment. At this point, I’m ready to throw up from the display. I pour some of my beer in the mug to cover up the puke a bit and give 5 some more napkins.
5 Mile then tries to explain his actions. “That wasn’t a Raspberry Bomb. That was a Cherry Bomb. I fucking hate cherry. I can’t do it. I fucking hate cherry. I don’t like anything cherry…except Hostess Cherry Pies. Seriously, I can’t do anything cherry – that’s why I puked.” Yeah, it was that cherry flavoring that made him puke, not the fifty shots he did before that. Fake Bennett returns from the bathroom and announces that he threw up 7 times. 5 Mile decides to celebrate this news by ordering another round of shots – this time making sure they are raspberry and not cherry.
For the rest of the game things went relatively smoothly. 5 Mile kept hitting on the Beanbag Lady and Fake Bennett had stopped dozing off and was now concentrating on trying to break up with his girlfriend. When the game ended, 5 Mile tried to collect on a $20 bet he made with the boyfriend of the beanbag before the game that State would win. They were joking around with each other about the bet, and the guy put a twenty on the bar under 5 Mile’s beer. 5 Mile didn’t notice this, so Fake Bennett leaned over and grabbed it when no one but me was looking.
“Bennett, put it back, man. You’re gonna start a fight over that,” I pleaded.
“Naw, it’s fine. They won’t even notice. I’ll use it to pay the tab anyway.”
He then filled out a Keno form and gave it to the bartender along with the twenty.
“How is that paying the tab?”
“Well once we win, it will.”
And that’s when I tapped out. I’d had enough. It was only a matter of time until one of these two drunks pissed the wrong person (or each other) off and cause trouble, and I didn’t want any part of it. There was no way I was going to catch up to them buzz-wise – not that I wanted to – and it’s no secret how little fun it is to be the only sober person in a group of drunks. So I waited until 5 was in deep conversation about Michigan versus State, and Fake Bennett was telling his girlfriend that he could kick her ass at ping pong and I got out of my seat and bee lined to my car, never looking back.
I don't hear from 5 again until this afternoon. We had the following text message exchange:
5 Mile: What a damn train wreck yesterday was. Holy hell.
Me: No shit. You were a mess.
5 Mile: Shit happens. It was all pretty much a disaster.
Me: Where'd you end up?
5 Mile: We went to Doc's and then stayed at Bennett's.
Me: How'd you get to Doc's? Do you remember it at all?
5 Mile: We got there by cab. I remember being at the bar and all that, just not leaving Doc's. End of the nite was a blur. Did make out with a twiz at Doc's tho...weird.
Me: I bet that twiz loved the taste of your vomit.
5 Mile: It was masked with beer and alcohol. She didn't stand a chance of knowing.
Me. So solid by you.
5 Mile: I'm a very clever lad.
Me: Ha. Classy too.
5 Mile. I'm all about class. It's my new thing.
Me: And now you get to be classy all over again on Monday nite.
5 Mile: It won't get rowdy like that again tomorrow. I can't do it if I wanna survive. Would make the week be garbage.
Me: Word.
Friday, April 03, 2009
Don't Call It a Comeback
Sorry for the lack of content on here recently. Here's a video montage of a bunch of TV reporters getting hurt to tide you over until I put up some original content.
Wednesday, March 04, 2009
He's a Chucker.
A ways back I linked to the prank war between these two dudes. This is the latest prank. It's pretty damn good.
