I tell ya, nothing beats the feeling you get when you're warming your hands on that new extra-special someone when she reaches over to get the condom jar and, upon inspecting said jar, says "Wow. It's almost empty."
Speaking of Christmas (copyright Microsoft, 2002), the Night Before (R) was quite a blast for yours truly. Anxious to remove myself from the Hustle and Bustle (tm), I went out to the local octopussyplex and checked out the new Lord of the Rings movie. It would have been fan-freaking-tactic if it weren't for the amputee in front of me having conversations with his detached
prosthesis in the voice of Gollum. (Tip: If you're looking to score with the chicks, I recommend carrying it around with you at all times, pausing for moments when you can -- in full public view -- stroke the hook while calling it "my precious". Chicks dig scars. Especially talking ones.)
By the time the movie was over, I had gone two full days without a cigarette. Needless to say, I was one cranky little SOB. The voice of Common Sense told me to sneak one before Christmas Eve Dinner. But the voice of Paranoia -- which is much louder and sounds something like Sam Kinison through a vocoder -- demanded I hold out until the Replicants wiped out the rest of
earth's population and I could be sure no one at the homestead would catch me.
After two glasses of wine, I was all set to rip into the mashed potatoes. Such a nice, steaming plate of golden-browny goodness sat before me, and I reached over the gravy boat to grab a scoop -- which prompted my grandmother, who was concerned I'd dip my sleeve in the gravy, to pick up my arm and put it back at my side. "You'll get gravy all over your sweater!" she said.
The next few seconds remain a bit of a blur to me, but I remember looking her dead in the eye while I stuck my elbow into the gravy boat.
"Oh yeah, gram? How do ya like me now?"
Then my mother dressed me up like a Christmas Tree. All's well that ends well. That's what I say.
After dinner I took a drive over to my buddy's house so I could drop off his Bottle of Moet Christmas Happy Meal in time for the big day. His front door was open, so I let myself in. Alas, he was nowhere to be found. While I was there I figured I could at least find his bathroom and leave him an O Holy Shit. As I was walking up the stairs I noticed a dim red light coming from the attic. I followed this red light up the steps and through the door, only
to find my buddy wearing nothing but tube socks nogging some faceless beauty's brown egg while singing "Spirit in the Sky".
I fell asleep that night wondering if I could use my Best Buy gift
certificates to buy me the Stairway to Heaven.
All negative holiday thoughts left me the next morning when I discovered that Santa had brought me my very own personal pep band for Christmas. That's right, my very own pep band -- complete with horns, winds, drums, and a fight song! Suh-WEET! Everywhere I went that day, my arrival was announced by the thunderous marching band orchestration of Gary Glitter's "Rock and Roll Part Two".
The band came in particularly handy the other night when we all went out to the bar and the drippingly skanky young lass came over to our table and hit on me. Now, the holiday season was over, and IW as feeling a little lonely. Plus, I had knocked back a couple of glasses of bourbon, so I wasn't feeling particularly with-it, and I thought about taking this creature home with me.
That was when my pep band, seated directly behind me, began stomping on the floor and shouting "DE-FENSE! DE-FENSE!" Inspired by the crowd, I put my game face on, set-up my 2-3 press and made a backdoor pass right out into the street. The band was ecstatic. To celebrate my victory, the band took me
out to see Drumline.
If you were always on Willie Nelson's mind, would you make his dreams come true? Or would you walk away?