Friday, December 28, 2007

A Night Out

Last night I got out of work an hour early. So two of my co-workers (we’ll call them Dude and Chick) and I decided to hit up the bar.


Buffalo Zoo Juice

We sat down and ordered our drinks. A few minutes later this trio of guys got up to the bar and ordered an interesting looking pink mixed drink. Dude and Chick were all like “Oooo, that looks good” and “I wonder what that is”. So I said, “Why don’t you go ask him?”

But they responded (and I’m paraphrasing here) “No, we have social anxieties and strangers intimidate us.”

“I’ll go find out, then,” I said. Both of them said I shouldn’t; I don’t really understand their inability to speak to strangers.

So I asked the guy what drink he was having and he told me; “It’s called Buffalo Zoo Juice” (this is at Buffalo Wild Wings, so it’s probably some sort of ‘chain-drink’).

“What’s in it?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” the guy said; “But my brother works at another BW’s, and he made me one of these. I only drank the one and I was buzzing my dick off.”

“Wow,” I said. “Last time I buzzed my dick off, there was a cell phone in my pocket.”

Awkward silence, he blinked a few times.

“Alright,” I said; “thanks.”

“Sure,” he said.

I walk back over to Dude and Chick and they are immediately asking for details. “What’s it called?” “What is it?” “What’s in it?”

“It’s called Buffalo Zoo Juice,” I told them, pausing dramatically; “And it is known to buzz dicks off.”

“What?!” The two of them asked, astonished. “It does what?!”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I asked that guy what was in it and he said he didn’t know, but the last time he had one he was buzzing his dick off.”

They laughed for a while and “buzz my dick off” became a catch phrase for the night. I moderated it for Chick, saying “It will buzz your vag off”.

We ended up ordering the drinks and they were pretty good. Sadly, however, there was no dick buzzing.





A Friendly Game of Confuse the DJ

There was a DJ there that night. He mentioned that he was taking requests, said to come on up and tell him what we wanted to hear and to come on up as often as we like.

That’s when I proposed a bar-game. I don’t know if this is a game other people play, but it’s called Confuse the DJ.

“How do you play Confuse the DJ?” Chick asked.

“It’s easy,” I told her. “We make up a band and request to hear it.”

So we started brainstorming. It had to sound like a real band and we threw several ideas out on the table; Black Sunday had a good run, then I suggested Silver Jews (someone I was certain they had never heard of). They thought Silver Jews sounded horrible, not like a real band at all. I then revealed that Silver Jews was a real band, and they were astonished to learn this. This gave me an idea.

Next I suggested Queen Franklin and we toyed with this one for a while before I suggested Soul Coughing, a band that was not unheard of but not common. I watched them for recognition and saw (thankfully) that they had never heard of Soul Coughing.

“That’s what I’m going to request then,” I said. “Soul Coughing. I’ll call the song Super Bon-Bon.”

So I went up to the DJ and suggested it. The DJ hadn’t heard any requests for Soul Coughing in a long while, but he did have the song.

I returned to the bar and Dude and Chick were excited to hear how it went.

“I walked up to him and asked for Soul Coughing, Super Bon-Bon; and then I walked away.” They laughed a little. Wasn’t overly funny, but it was amusing at the moment for them.

It was far more amusing when, two songs later, the DJ announced that the next song was from a band called Soul Coughing with the song ‘Super Bob-Bon’.

Their jaws dropped as the bass started pumping. “No way!” I said, trying to look as shocked as they were. A moment later realization hit them and they realized that they had been had, but the look of shock on their faces before then was worth the trouble of the long set-up.

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Tuesday, December 25, 2007

An open letter to the Philadelphia Eagles

Dear Eagles,

You know we don't have a shot at getting into the playoffs. Why do you keep trying to win? What about the draft? Is the draft not important to you? I just don't understand.

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Happy Birthday Jesus

Happy birthday, Jesus.

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Thursday, December 20, 2007

The Metal Gate

The wife and I had a little fight the other night. It’s been a while since we’ve squabbled, so it was about time really.

I don’t even remember what we were arguing about, but I know it was something stupid (the best fights are the stupid ones).

It got pretty heated and it eventually reached the point where I was going to start flipping out and saying mean things that I didn’t mean, so I decided that I just needed to end the fight real quick and walk away so that nothing escalated. So I said “fuck you,” and walked away (this is how I end fights). As I walked away I stepped through the metal child-gate we have that keeps our dog out of certain rooms. I opened it, stepped through and slammed it behind me; not shut, just slammed it.

So Mrs. Poop was like “Oh you like slamming things, do you?!” and she grabbed the gate door and was like SLAM! SLAM! SLAM! SLAM! SLAM!

Well, I wasn’t going to let her get away with that, so I grabbed the gate and did one huge incredible hulk SLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAMMMMMMMMMMMM!!!!!!! That one ripped the gate right out of the door frame, and my wife walked away. I was glad she walked away too, because I had broken several parts of the gate with that last slam.

I ended up setting the gate aside, propping it up against a wall and not saying anything about it.

Later on, after we were no longer infuriated with one another, Mrs. Poop saw the gate and said “why do you have the gate over on the wall like that? Put it up so the dog can’t get in here,”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” I told her.

Then I showed her the cracked and bent pieces and we laughed. It was a pretty awesome slam, all things considered.

The next morning we went out and got a new gate.

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Thursday, December 13, 2007

Drive By

That last post I made reminds me of something I actually have done.

Drive by snow balls.

It used to be a lot of fun, I'd drive and throw snow balls, the kids would throw snow balls out the back window. It was great.

Wasn't too often we actually hit anyone, but it was great fun trying.

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Saturday, December 08, 2007

A dream fulfilled?

Today I did something that I have always wanted to do.

It just snowed last night.

I went to the gas station on my way home from work to fill up the tank. It was pretty crowded there.

I decided that I wasn't just going to dream about it anymore and I did it. I launched a snowball at a complete stranger.

He was an older man dressed with a stern face. He gave me the impression that he was one of those people who regularly snubs his nose at people like me.

It landed on the roof of his car and bounced harmlessly past him, but the roof bounce sprayed him a bit with a little snow. He glared at me and I stared right back at him as I packed up another snowball. At another pump somewhere someone laughed.

He was still glaring at me with his angry eyes as I threw the second snowball at him. This one hit his shoulder. "You are incredibly childish," he said to me.

"And you sir are no soldier," I said, packing another one.

That's when the missle came in at me; blasted me right in the side of the head. I turned around to see some guy about my age holding his hands in the air in absolute victory.

"That't it," I said. "You're dead." I returned fire.

Before I knew it, the entire area was engaged in an all out snowball war; the volley of snowballs was so intense that it blotted out the flaurecent lighting from above. Every one was fully engaged. It was glorious.

The man who was originally victimized by my terrorism drove away as his car took damage from hundreds of snowballs as the war waged on. Eventually the police had to come and break it up.

It was a night that I can never forget... Or could never forget if I had actually done any of this.

I wish I could work up the courage to do so, but everytime I play it out in my head I assume that someone is going to get wicked pissed and fail to relive the simple childish pleasure of engaging yourself in a snowball fight. 122

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Wednesday, December 05, 2007

Today was kind of random

Today was an interesting day.

I slept in a little; which was good because I felt a little better rested but was also bad because I was a few minutes late for work. I pulled into the work parking lot and my jacket sleeve got caught on my pants button and ripped the button off (that's what happened, by the way; my belly didn't cause it to burst or anything i swear). I put the button in my back pocket and tightened my belt a bit hoping that it would compensate for and cover up my missing button.

Then I went to work, up the elevator and in the doors; to my desk undetected by the boss. Certainly that was lucky. What was even more fortunate was what I noticed in the restroom mirror, the absense of my top button was thankfully unnoticable due to my enormous gut hanging over the belt line just enough to cover the button area.

Turns out a client was visiting today, so my massive girth really is fortunate with the whole button thing. I got to go to olive garden with them on company expense, and that was awesome.

I got 'stuffed chicken somthing'. There were two 'stuffed chicken somethings' on the menu, but I got the one I could pronounce. I figured I would be able to remember it since I could pronounce it, but as I told my wife what it was I realised that I had forgotten. As fate would have it, she knew the meal I was speaking of and named it right off; having seen it advertised on the television.

That's when I explained to her what I have already explained to her; that I had chosen one I could pronounce in the hopes of remembering the name it but having forgotten just that, and about how coincidental it was that she should know the name of it.

After that I came over here to post it on my blog, only to realize that I have again forgotten the name of it. I am certain that it is "stuffed chicken something", but as I have mentioned; there are two 'stuffed chicken somethings' on the list and I don't remember either of them.

If you go to Olive Garden, have the 'stuffed chicken something' that is easy to pronounce.

So I go to the fridge only to discover that my wife bought some St. Pauli Girl and stocked the fridge with them so that they were nice and cold for me when I got home.

Except that the beer in the refridgerator thing didn't actually happen. I made that part up to mask the pain that I feel because this has never happened to me. The conclusion of the day utterly destroyed what had been an otherwise wonderful adventure.

Honey, if you read this... Please buy me some beer and stock the fridge with it. If you won't give me head, at least give me beer.

*sigh*

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Tuesday, December 04, 2007

Decorating for Christmas

My wife loves to decorate for christmas. But for some reason she will not allow me to decorate despite the utter awesomeness of my decoration idea.

You know those circular cookies that the keebler elves make? I want to hang them on strings from my cieling. That way, if you're hanging out at my house and want a cookie all you have to do is reach up and pull one down.

And yet she denies the coolness factor of this idea.

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Saturday, December 01, 2007

Dear people who drive short cars...

Dear people who have short cars.

I hate you.

Sincerely,

The guy who keeps getting excited when he thinks there is an open spot.

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