A Night At The Hooters Girl Competition

Note - My man Q took many photos at the competition last week. He was posing as Mason Lee, a photographer from LA, for some reason. Anyway, I got a great shot, using his IPhone, of Dave, Dave's Dad, Q, and a Hooters Girl. Well, Q managed to not save any of the photos he took on his phone from the event in question. Which is pretty ironic in light of the fact he was pretending to be a photographer. Instead of the photo I wanted to use, this one, of some Hooters girl from somewhere or other, will have to suffice.

Well, last Thursday evening I ventured to an event that I would normally never be caught dead at. At the urging of Greensboro's favorite bartender, Dave (you know, the guy who worships Glenn Beck), I and several other guys joined Dave for a rollicking night at the Miss Hooters Pageant. Dave had been hyping up this event for at least 3 months, and I like the guy, so I reluctantly agreed to go along. And it was something. I have been inside a Hooters exactly 1 time in my life (in San Antonio), and got so depressed over the girls wearing those ridiculous pantyhose under those neon orange shorts, the pitiful men dropping huge tips to said girls after 5 minutes of phony sweet talk, and the poor kids who were dragged into the joint by their single dads, that I never had any interest in going back. And technically I didn't go back, as the event here in the Gate City was in a huge tent in the Hooters parking lot on High Point Rd. I never set foot inside the actual restaurant. Me and Brandon pulled up to the Hooters at about 7:30 that evening. Once I got a hold of Dave and my man Q, got the VIP tickets, bought $80 worth of booze tickets, and stumbled inside the tent, I realized that the thing would be memorable. Why, you may ask? Because, there were 30 girls wondering around half-naked, about 200 utterly pitiable dudes (and yes, many of them were wearing Duke hats), me, Dave, Brandon, Q, Dave's dad, Dave's brother Nate, and 2 of Nate's running buddies, and that was a mix that spelled having a time all over it. Obviously. It became apparent pretty quick that Dave and some of the other guys were not pacing their getting loaded very well, as shots of Cuervo and Jack were flying at our special VIP Table, #25. I spent some time before they started the 1st round talking to Nate and even though the guy is a huge fan of Barack Hussein Obama, he's a pretty good kid (we talked the twisted art of gambling mostly). When 8:00 rolled around the competition began and I had no idea what to expect exactly. The MC of the thing said it would be lingerie round. My interest in the event rose considerably. And when contestant #1 came out in next-to-nothing, I mean virtually nothing covering her ass or breasts, and the guys in attendance started whooping and hollering, I turned to Brandon and said, "We're gonna have to drink faster." I'm not sure if he heard me though. The kid had a huge grin on his face and seemed oblivious to anything but the almost naked chick strutting around the catwalk. Eventually all 30 girls competing came out and showed their wares to the throng of getting drunk men. And let me say this about the quality of the girls competing; about 7 0r 8 were fairly attractive girls with awesome bodies, and 7 or 8 more were not too cute girls with awesome to pretty hot bodies, and the rest of the girls were various types of nasty, skanky, ho-like, and repulsive (1 poor slut came out in that lingerie round sporting this so flimsy fabric white thong that the outline of her vulva was extremely pronounced, I giggled). Anyway, more shots were consumed and the 2nd round started. This round the girls came out in wife-beaters and tight shorts, wearing hats. They auctioned the hats, supposedly for charity (although I highly doubt that was the case). One of the hats sold for $250. I am not kidding. The interesting thing about these hats is that each girl signed the hat they sold as a kind of souvenir for whatever idiot bought the thing. And Dave and Q both bought a hat (although I give them both a pass, as they were hammered). The coolest thing about the hat that Dave bought was that Yudi, contestant #7, signed the brim this way: All Yours Truely, Yudi xoxo. And I have not quit laughing yet about that. The poor Hooters girl can't spell truly right. Awesome. And strangely appropriate. Well, about 2/3 of the way through the hat auctioning round, everyone in our group took off. Except me and Brandon. We had about $40 worth booze tickets left, and I'll be damned if those were going to go unused. On one hand, it was probably a good decision for the guys who were pretty tanked up to take off and not risk any issues later in the evening. On the other hand, Dave, Q, and the rest of the fellas missed the swimsuit round. And I gotta say, the swimsuit round was enlightening. Because the girls were showing off more T&A in the swimsuit round than they did in the lingerie round. Brandon had a perpetual smile glued on his face the entire round. Anyway, we drank up the $40 of booze tickets, saw them announce the 4 winners, and got the hell out of there. All in all, it was a good time. And I expect Dave to do the whole thing again next year. I might even show up again. You never know. You just don't.

Gotta run here, but on a serious note, I wanna give a huge congratulations to Dan and Katie. They got engaged over the weekend (although my sources indicate they've been shacking up for a number of months now...). And, as they know, I think the world of both of them. I'm sure they'll have a long and happy life together. As for me, probably not very long & almost no happiness. Alas, ...

I'm out---->

Big Chris Walks Into A Bar

I got a text from Geilfuss a few weeks ago and it concerned the insanely bizarre world of Essex, Maryland (a town where a women who owned a bra AND actually wore it once a week would be considered queen). Anyway, Geilfuss informed me that on the same day, 2 women, a mother and daughter to be exact, gave birth. Not that unusual in our world, you say (especially the Essex-esque nature of much of our world). Well, that's true. But in this case there's a catch. The 2 women, the mother and daughter, were both impregnated by the same man. And the ladies just happened to deliver the babies on the same day. I faithfully watch Springer and tales of some lowlife banging a girl and her mom (or even Granny) are not super out of the ordinary these days. But I had never heard of a twist like the one in Essex. It will be interesting to see how the relationship between these 2 infants develops over the years. Normally a kid would call their Grandma's child Aunt or Uncle whatever. Or Grandma's child would call their half-sister's kid niece or nephew. I guess those tags technically hold in this weird case. Where it gets even stranger is the labelling of the father of both kids in this situation. Because while he's clearly Daddy to both these kids, things start getting problematic when you start pondering how the moron exactly relates to the mother and daughter and everyone else in the family. It blows my mind to contemplate it. I think freak would suffice. Or no good piece of worthless shit. Or guy who needs to buy some damn prophylactics. Something though. I await news that the same guy knocked up a 1st cousin of the younger of these mothers, or even better, a sister of the same. Hopefully, Geilfuss will keep me posted.

Speaking of Geilfuss, the kid hasn't blogged in like 6 weeks now. And I know we can all get busy with stuff or just not feel like there's anything interesting to write about (especially someone like me who doesn't do any kind of pre-planning or rough drafting, as I just sign in and start typing, and some days it takes a few minutes for something to pop into my brain). But here's hoping Geilfuss will break out of his self-imposed blogging exile here soon. As I've said before, the only blogs I look at on any kind of regular basis are the blogs scribed by Mark Titus and Geilfuss (although I may have to ditch Titus now, as I hear he's going Hollywood and getting involved {not necessarily sexually involved} with the cliche king of ESPN, Bill Simmons).

There is a guy who comes into the Wing Joint on Battleground from time to time. A guy I like to call Fat Chris (although he's not as fat as Fat Adam of Get Bent Lounge infamy, not by a sight). Most folks at the wing joint call him Big Chris. In fact, now that I think about it, lots of guys around the dive bars of the Gate City go by Big ___. I know a Big John, Big Dave, Big Jeff, Big Tom, etc. It's amazing how big guys are. Maybe someday I can get to the point where folks call me Big Brother??? Get it??? I kill myself. I really do. Getting back to Big Chris, the guy is in his mid 40's, has an enormous gut, wears his hair longish, parted down the middle, and sports a horrendous NASCAR style pornstache for effect (what effect, I can't figure out). Big, or Fat, Chris lives with an 84 year old man, next door to his mother. He works occasionally as a day laborer (he'll paint, or mow, or generally tinker around a home or yard for a few bucks {although he has boasted that he will work for Budweiser from time time - I guess that's good as it cuts out the middle man. I mean all Big Chris would do with any cash he makes is go to the nearest Quickie Mart and buy Budweiser anyway...}). The thing about Big Chris is that he doesn't come into the bar with much cash on him most nights. He has limited funds. He's constantly begging someone to buy him a beer. One night a few weeks ago, Big Chris came into the bar and paid his tab with 16 dollars worth of quarters. I, and others, suspect he stole the quarters from the 84 year old man he rooms with. At least on the night Big Chris paid in quarters, he paid. Because, on many other nights, Big Chris walks out on his tab. Inevitably one of the stupid young servers in there will pay it for him. The girls waiting tables in there are generally well-intended morons. Big Chris's favorite activity at the bar is stalking a woman named KC, a 50 year old drunk who, while nice enough I guess, sits and gets hammered from 5 to midnight every weeknight and some Saturdays. KC detests Big Chris. I know KC detests Big Chris. So, I put lots of energy into getting the 2 of them together. It amuses me. And it passes the time. Just yesterday Big Chris came into the bar dead drunk, stoned out of his mind (he proudly showed me the last bit off whatever pot he'd scored), looking for a free beer and a way to score with his muse, KC. I told him he had to have some plan to repay for the beers he was getting for nothing. And that's when Big Chris came up with one of the most genius ideas I've ever heard. His plan is to buy a buffalo costume (the animal, not the football team) and roam up and down Battleground to attract customers to the Wing Joint. The only thing he would require of the Wing Joint in return for this service was for them to attach some kind of device to the back of the buffalo costume that contained cold Budweiser that he could sip through some tube as he prowled the streets. I am encouraging Big Chris with this idea. I think it would be awesome to see him and his enormous gut stumbling out into the busy road, dead drunk, sporting a stinky and sweat saturated buffalo costume. The only problem is getting someone to pay for the costume. I am told a custom made costume like the one Big Chris has in mind, costs about 4 grand. And the General Manager of the Wing Joint isn't going to shell out that kind of dough so Big Chris can fall, piss-assed drunk onto Battleground, and get run over by some truck while wearing a buffalo costume. The kind of publicity that would attract isn't the kind the Wing Joint wants. But it's what I want. And since everything is about me, I'm gonna hold some kind of fundraiser to get Big Chris this buffalo costume. I'm thinking of one of those walk-a-thon deals. You know, like walk for the cure or whatever. I will call it Walk For The Fat Man Who Needs A Buffalo Costume To Get Free Budweiser And Inevitably Die Tragically. I like the ring of that. It rolls right off the tongue.

I'm at Generic Bread at the moment and there is some teacher about 7 feet away meeting with students and some poorly bearded co-teacher. Anyway, the talk turned to what movie would be good to show to her 11th grade English class. Several ideas were thrown out - Barton Fink, Miller's Crossing, Elephant Man, etc. I looked up at one point point and offered this suggestion - "The Devil Wears Nada?" Alas, no one laughed.

I saw some piece in last Sunday's NY Times about Mrs. Barack Hussein Obama's influence on fashion. And it was nauseating, to say the least. I'm not qualified to speak about women's fashion, obviously (my suggestion would be topless, with fishnet stockings, a garter belt, no panties, and shaved raw). But accompanying this article were dozens of photos of various outfits and whatnot that Mrs. Barack Hussein Obama has donned over the last year or so. And I noticed a theme in the said photos. The theme was this - no matter what she wears, Mrs. Barack Hussein Obama appears to always look like James Harrison in drag...

Minimalism, Abstract Impressionism, Postmodernism, Is it?

I am out - TBFH

The Land Of Lincoln Logs

I got off an airplane Sunday afternoon and found myself smack in the heart of The Land Of Lincoln. The whole area appeared to be random buildings in the middle of a cornfield. And after spending 5 days here I can report that the area is random buildings in the middle of a cornfield. I am typing this from the 28th floor of the Springfield Hilton. And yes, the Hilton is by far the tallest building in this town. I can look out the window of my hotel room and everything is dwarf-like, even the state capital dome type thing. I asked some of the hotel staff if my main man, Barack Hussein Obama, had ever stayed at this Hilton when he was languishing as a low-level Illinois State Senator. And I got one interesting response to my queries on the subject, as one of the maintenance guys, a brother in his 50's, told me that he'd seen old Barry back in the day skulking around, chain-smoking, and looking for tail. I have no idea if this is true or not, but the brother who told me seemed to have an honest face.

Speaking of Lincoln, I asked a tourist here if she knew where I could buy some of his logs. She said, "What?...Logs?" I told her to quit being a pervert and that I wasn't looking to buy remnants of some massive 160 year old dump that Lincoln dropped out in a cornfield.

One of the statues of Lincoln near the old State House (the one from the 1800's), has a chick appearing to be giving him fellatio while 2 young boys stand around mesmerized. At least that's how it appeared to me as I approached the statue from behind. And I thought that was pretty progressive of the Prairie State, you know, telling the truth about how folks passed the time back in the day - by engaging in public displays of oral sex while giving young lads a cheap thrill. Turns out that the broad depicted in the statue in question was merely dickering with old Abe's bow tie, not pleasuring his disease riddled pole. Alas, ...

Monday night here in Springfield there was a younger brother walking around the downtown trying to unload his last gram of pot. I politely passed on the offer. But I did ask this pot dealing brother if he ever knew Barack Hussein Obama to be holding when he would visit the city. The ganja dealing brother got real quiet and then ran away mumbling something about Rahm Emanuel and being turned into a eunuch...

Lunch here at the Hilton has been a real experience to say the least this week. The staff here has been bringing out these plates with underdone meat every day. I asked a female member of the staff if she wouldn't mind taking my meat back to the kitchen and giving it a quick rise, so to speak. Well, that might have been a mistake, because 5 minutes later I found myself with a still too cool piece of prime rib, and having a pickle of a time trying to extricate myself from this banquet queen's clutches. They do grow them big here. Breeder big. Not exactly my type, obviously.

I have been flipping around the old TV here at the Hilton off and on and came across some atrocity of a film called Eagle Eye on the HBO. I couldn't follow the thing at all. The girl from Kiss Kiss Bang Bang is running around trying to blow up something and Karl Childers is chasing after her and some young actor with pitiful facial hair. Skip it. However, do not skip Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, as it is brilliant.

Sorry it's been so long between posts. I'm busy as hell these days.

10 Questions About Full House

I stumbled into some quasi-sports bar last Friday about 8 or so and noticed on the notorious ESPN bottom line that His Excellency, The Tiger, shot a 79 in the 2nd round at Quail Hollow. Immediately I screamed to the bar wench to turn one of the TV sets to Golf Channel, as I know they rerun the day's coverage in prime time. And that was one of the best ideas I've had in a long time. Because I watched The Tiger's horrendous play. Horrendous. I have never, ever seen him play like that, not even as an amateur playing in Majors off his exemptions from winning the US Amateur. The only round you could compare it to, even remotely, was the 3rd round of The Open Championship at Muirfield in 2002 (but there was a sideways torrent of rain in play that day). No torrent of rain last Friday in Charlotte. The Tiger was atrocious. The Golf Channel should rerun it every night for the next hundred years. At least.

I also heard that one of The Tiger's most prized skanks, one Joslyn James, a porn skank to be exact, was "performing" at a strip joint in Charlotte over the weekend. And when I heard that, The Tiger's awful play came more into focus. I'm sure he couldn't wait to get the hell off the golf course, race to his rented palace, take handfuls of Ambien, have some lackey chauffeur him over to the strip joint where the porn skank in question was making a fast and cheap buck, lurk in the shadows of the VIP room, and wait to resume partaking in his life's real purpose - fucking shameless hos wearing red lingerie, disgracing his wife and marriage vows, and generally becoming the laughingstock of civilization.

I was at the old trivia last Wednesday, the one out at Scam's Lakeside. And this time, you may have guessed it, the kid asked 10 questions about Full House. I had no idea about any of them, save one. That particular question involved the name of the dog on the show. And while I don't know anything about the ins and outs of the Tanner household, I do know something about dogs, and I remembered that the dog shared his name with one of Santa's reindeer - Comet. It turns out that was the key to the whole game, because I ended up winning by 1 question. When I ran into Brandon later that night, I asked him some of the Full House questions, and he rattled off the answers fast. I never knew the kid enjoyed Uncle Joey and company. But he knew who Kimmie was. And Steve. And other things about the program no one should know. I asked Brandon if he spent a lot of time fixated on Kirk Cameron's little sister when he was a kid. And I never really got a straight answer out of him. Lastly on this, there was a big birthday party going on in the bar at the same time as the trivia game, and when the kid running the thing announced I'd won, several of the bigger gals there for the birthday festivities chanted, "Cheater, cheater, cheater!!!" I walked out to smoke.

Wild goings on in the NBA hoops world. The 1st round has vanished and the only real surprise was the Spurs taking Dallas. The Mavs had won like 9 of the previous 10 meetings entering the series. And George Hill was the key. His production got SA 2 of those 4 wins. I didn't know the kid had it in him. The other series went fairly according to form. Last week was a very good one as far as the dark world of 11-10 is concerned. Three of the last six days have been perfect. Including last Friday when I hit a 5 Teamer. Brandon was pretty happy when he walked into the bar about 1:20 that evening. I intend to keep it up here in round 2.

Speaking of the sordid world of gambling, I ventured up to the State For Lovers, or the Old Dominion, or whatever they call it now, for Saturday's hard hitting horse racing action. They have an OTB near the Martinsville Racetrack (it's just about 45 minutes up 220 from Greensboro). Now, as I've noted on this blog before, I pretty much stick to betting on hoops and football. I don't know nearly enough about the other sports to gamble successfully on them (and I know a lot about other sports, what does that tell you?). Anyway, I don't know a thing about them. But I know some guys who do. I've come across horse betters here and there in my lifelong travels among the degenerate underbelly of society. I'm certain that's shocking to hear! Shocking!!! Well, I got in touch with one of my horse guys and he gave me some tips on the racing action at Belmont and Calder for the day. I met a guy up there at the OTB who is also a serious horse handicapper. This guy is sharp. Anyway, he was handicapping the races at Churchill Downs and Philadelphia Park. We managed to do pretty well, as you can imagine. I even hit a 33-1 shot at one point. As far as the Derby, the guy who was out at the OTB with me, gave me 4 horses he liked, the 4, 7, 16, & 19. And I'll be damned but the 4 won the thing. I believe the horse is named Super Soaker. I was sitting next to an 80 year old lady and her granddaughter for the race, and they had a lot of tickets with them, but none with the 4 horse winning. On my advice (which really wasn't my advice), they put a 5 spot on Super Soaker. They were nice ladies. I was happy they cashed a ticket. As far as the OTB goes, the lowest of the lowest lowlifes were in there. I enjoyed it quite a bit, obviously. I'll be back again soon.

I was out at a cookout type deal for a few hours yesterday. A number of gay dudes were there. Anyway, talk turned to drag queens at one point. And some of the names are pretty funny, but whatever (Constance Fellatio, that type of thing). Evidently there is a big drag queen pageant this weekend at some bar I've never heard of. And I was invited to the thing. And I might show up for awhile. We'll see. It would certainly make for excellent blog fodder if I make it out.

Lots more, including the typical drunken tales from the wing joint on Battleground coming soon (one involves Dave using the phrase "innate nature," seriously).

You wax poetic about things pathetic

As long as you look so cute

I am out - TBFH

A Short Letter About Leaky Toilets

Note- The writer of what appears below is unknown to me. But then again, I am unknown to many of you. So,...

Dear Pen Pal,

The oddest thing happened to me just the other week (odd even for your dearest weary lost soul). I had run away from the orphanage for the billionth time, as usual those other orphans were a little too handsy with me. I soon found myself at a Quickie Mart called Sims, on a strange road near old folks homes, dilapidated apartment complexes, and bad Chinese take-out joints. Anyway, I bought a couple of 40s, a tin of potted meat, and a pack of Marlboro Reds (the Indian looking clerk running the counter at the time, who went by the name of Patel I think, didn't seem to mind that I was a mere 13 year old runaway). I walked out of the Sims and across the street to a place that bills itself as one where folks can discover many lifestyles. While I was wandering around the property I observed a number of black kids running around unattended, freaks walking sad looking dogs, brothers tinkering under the hoods of their barely running autos, and a Mexican couple arguing about the dramatic rise in the price of bologna at the Food Slug. After noticing these things, I came across a situation stranger yet. I espied 2 guys get out of a golf cart in front of one of the run-down buildings. And boy did they seem to be having a snit brewing between them! The first guy was old, wearing a fake Indiana Jones type hat, sported a bushy mustache, and had a certain rank stench that can only be attained through careful avoidance of showering. The other guy was younger, maybe 40. He was scrawny, wore ill-fitting glasses, and carried an undignified redneck air about his personage. When I walked up toward them they were arguing about the best way to fix a leaky toilet. I said to them, "What's up, Jack?" The older one explained to me that his idea of the best way to handle this leaky toilet problem was to put a note on the door of the residence in question conveying that maintenance will get to dealing with the problem after the weekend. After which weekend exactly was unclear to me. The skinnier of the two objected to this plan and instead wanted to take out and replace not only the leaky toilet in question, but all the toilets on the entire property. "Jus' as' a percawshun," as he so aptly put it. My advice was to loan the occupants a wrench. I was brokering a peace between these 2 coarse workmen. After a number of minutes of stammering like Mel Tillis by the scrawny guy and some fiddling with his yellowish dentures by the older guy (he made this constant gnashing sound with his lower set, only I seemed to take any notice to it), it was all settled - they left a wrench at the doorstep with a note that read: FER YER LEKEY CUMODE. That being over, the older guy inquired of me, "What the hell are you doing here kid?" I replied, "Nothing much, looking for a place to drink my malt liquor and contemplate the meaning of Naughty By Nature Lyrics, I guess." He said, "Why don't ya get yourself into the office for a cookie." I asked, "Chocolate chip?" "Sure, just be sure to avoid the old iron broad in there, she'll run you off just for kicks." "What?" "Just ask for Nancy when you go in there. She'll get you a chocolate chip." I got super excited at the mention of that name. I asked, rather hurriedly, "Is it the same Nancy who used to tutor me in the fine art of scoring at that measuring company across town? The orphanage apprenticed me for a spell there, and if it's the same Nancy she is mind-numbingly hot." The denture grinding geezer said, " Yea, so? I think it is. What of it kid?" I replied, "Thanks. I gotta run." And I started walking away from this odd couple. The old-timer yelled one last thing at me "Wait a sec. Aren't you going up to that office?" I replied to him this way, "I better not old timer. Because if I lay eyes on her, I'll start bawling uncontrollably." Then I lit out toward the park adjacent to this property, sat on a bench there, threw back my 40s, chain smoked for an hour, and got about as depressed as I've ever been.

Your Buddy,

_____