The year thus far...
Here we are. A new year, another 365 days to look at ugly people, another 52 weeks to hear people getting fatter, and another 12 months to engorge as many vegetables as a juicer can handle. I knew the year was coming to an end, so I wanted to experience as many funny things as I could. It gave me a keen eye on things, a wolf-like ear for detail, and the wit of a Brontosaurus with a fanny pack. My attention span, as usual, was limited. Yet nonetheless, I ventured out into the cold, cruel world to find the meaning of life: the population's idiocracy.
I got to see an old friend from back in the day last week. Yet another jack-nose returning for the holidays and looking for me to show him a "helluva great time with lots of bitches." I tend to show people this sort of a time anyways, so it really wasn't any big deal. His enthusiasm was nauseating, but he's a good friend so my "mind over blog" mentality was destined to kick in.
We arrived at the bar and took off our jackets. Marlo, let's call him, was wearing a v-neck sweater (warning #1) where the V came down to the middle of his chest. Was he wearing a shirt underneath, you ask? No, no he wasn't (warning #2). I know. Feel for me.
The color of the sweater was "tangerine" as he referred it to, and tight as ever against his body (warning #3). Tangerine is a girly color to start with, but I then asked him, "It looks more like a clementine color if you ask me. Tangerine is a bit too manly of a color for THAT kind of sweater."
He replied, "Dude, it's tangerine. That's what the lady at the store told me."
I said, "Well, where did you buy it?"
"That's not the point, Jimmy. The point is that it fits nice and it's tangerine. End of discussion."
"Where, Marlo?"
He hesitated, coughed a couple times, and whispered, "Macy's."
I said, "Well, that's not so bad."
"He replied, "The women's section."
"Oh. Ok. Well let's get a drink."
His face was red and sweat was dripping from his forehead.
I said, "Let's forget about it. Ancient history, my friend. What's your drink?"
He answered, "Well, I'm trying to not drink soda anymore, so I'll have a Captain and Coke."
Seriously?
This is what he really ordered. And yes, that's really how he explained it. He went on.
"I figured if I drink it with alcohol, then it will make me not want to drink it at all anymore."
I turned around, ordered his drink, and ordered myself 3 shots. He tried to take one. I slapped his hand away and told his clementine face to get his own. He obliged.
I returned home later that night, head full of burrito drunken memories and a deep craving for clementines (the fruit, not the sweater). My roommate was wide awake, playing UFC on PS3 and screaming like it was an actual fight. I asked him if he was hungry, and he told me he had a hot dog earlier that day. I stood there, puzzled at his short answer, and asked, "Well, was the hot dog good at least?"
He replied, "Well, I always go to the same vendor and get a hot dog everyday. His hot dogs are delicious, with the footlongs looking oh so juicy and the condiments ready to lube any surface with pleasures of taste and quality."
Interesting description. He continued.
"I enjoy the 12 inches of that hot dog to it's fullest, swallowing every bite with great satisfaction."
Ok. GAG. he went on.
"But every time I eat one of those damn things, I shit my life away ten minutes later. I mean, the shit exits my body without notice."
I asked, "So, you shit your pants every time then?"
He looked at me, looked away, and then yelled, "Oh come on! He was down!" at the television.
I decided that it was clearly the end of that discussion so I proceeded to hit the hay.
Hit. The. Hay.
