Legend Buys Jager Bombs

I was standing outside the place I occasionally show up to work earlier today, minding my own business and smoking a cigarette, when some super-thin dude with a neck brace, walker, & from what I could discern 2 teeth, ambled by ever so slowly (probably owing to the walker he was using). Anyway, this gentleman spoke to me for a bit. The impetus for him stopping was to inquire if he could bum a smoke off me. And seeing as how he appeared to be a bum, I gave him a Marlboro Light (which he was very excited about for some reason - I'm guessing bums buy the off-brand smokes when they can scrounge up enough loose change). Well, this thin, crippled bum decided to stand around and chat a bit after I gave him the smoke. The conversation that ensued was quite enlightening. The first thing he told me of interest was that 4 years ago he died and as as result of being dead he got the opportunity to have a little talk with God. And he wanted me to be sure to know that God loves me and is looking out for me at all times. In fact, this smoke bumming bum relayed to me that God specifically wanted said bum to pass along this good news to me. I politely told him thanks and that it was very comforting to know that God loved me and all. During our exchange about God loving me I noticed that this bum/cripple had a name tattooed on his left arm. The name was David T. It appeared to be a prison tat, at least to my untrained eye. Well, at one juncture this cigarette smoking bum extended his hand and asked me my name. I told him "Jack." When they ask, I tell all bums and strange women I meet in bars my name is Jack. He informed me his name was David. I told him that I'd surmised that fact, what with the tat on his arm proclaiming to the world that he was David T. I then asked this bum what the T stood for in David T. It's then that I got even more interesting news than the news of God loving me. David, the neck brace wearing, 2 toothed bum, told me he made the tattoo himself when he was 14 because he got tired of telling girls his name all the time. Which seemed strange, but whatever. As far as the T part of the David T tat, he told me his last name did not in fact start with a T, but with a B. The reason it appeared to be a T is because he quit giving himself the tattoo without completing the B due to the fact his arm was really bloody. David the Bum had stopped tatting himself back in the day when the B looked like a T. I told David the Bum that he was really falsely presenting himself to folks he asks to bum smokes from by having the T there on his arm when his last name actually started with a B. He appeared to laugh. Since this David B as in Bum looked way older than 14 this morning, I asked him why he'd never had the tat fixed and made the T on his arm into a B; thus righting a long standing wrong. David B as in Bum then let me know that he was in his mid-50's and that in the last 40 years had never got around to having his tat fixed. And that made sense to me. What with bummy David being so busy the past 40 years with school, work, and no doubt raising a family in the suburbs, it stands to reason that he just never found the time to have that pesky T made into a B on his arm. At that point I had finished my smoke and headed toward the door to go back inside the place I occasionally show up to work to finish writing up something very meaningless. I told David B, the cripple, teeth deprived bum, that I'd see him around. He told me to have a "blessed day." And that was it. The thing is that I feel like I am having a blessed day. An incredibly blessed day, in fact. Very fucking blessed.

When last I left you I was headed out to the infamous Kickin Chicken to watch Sunday Ticket. Well, the Kickin Chicken lived up to its reputation. Brandon wasn't feeling so hot, so I managed on my own. And sure enough, within 10 minutes of sitting down at the bar I had struck up a conversation with a big kid to my right that called himself Legend. He was there with his buddy who called himself Closer. I never did figure out why these 2 guys went by Legend and Closer. And I sure as hell wasn't about to ask. Legend & I got to discussing the dark world of 11 to 10 for awhile. He was an amiable enough chap and I was more or less not hating conversing with him (as many of you know, I hate people - they're the worst). About an hour passed and Legend passes me a Jager Bomb. I drank it and said thanks. Well, what happened from that point until about 6 when I stumbled out of the bar, can only be described as surreal. Even for me. Legend and Closer were stopping every remotely cute girl who passed by the bar and bought whoever wanted one, a Jager Bomb. All harmless bar fun, I'll grant you that. The thing was that this Legend guy kept passing me a Jager Bomb whenever he bought a round for whatever babes he was hitting on at a particular moment. I probably had 7 of them over a 3 &1/2 hour period. Needless to say, I was feeling it. So was Legend. In fact, Legend was feeling it so much so, that right before 4 he asked me to throw out a 2-team parlay for him to bet. I told him SD & CIN were both excellent picks. Legend then goes online via his IPhone or whatever and proceeds to place a $1000 parlay on the Bengals and Bolts (which would have paid $2600, if anyone cares). I was a little startled at the amount of the bet. But Legend seemed to be having the time of his life, knocking back Jager Bomb after Jager Bomb and talking to random thin brunettes about how beautiful he found them. As close observers of Sunday Ticket are aware, the Chargers did not cover their end of the bargain. They moved the ball up and down the field but were hurt badly by several bone-headed errors. That's gambling. The Bengals held up their end of things, losing by only 2. I wasn't with Legend when San Diego failed to get the job done for us, but I feel kinda bad for the guy. I mean, that's a bold bet right there - a dime on a 2-teamer. I'm guessing I'll run into Legend and Closer again here some Sunday. Legend kept informing me that all he and Closer do is: "Drink shots and pull women." I can't vouch for how many women they pull, but I sure as hell can confirm that they drink the hell out of some shots. Damn...

At one point during Sunday Ticket I found myself outside smoking with one of the many girls that Legend and Closer were coming onto. This chick decided it was vital to keep telling me how fertile she was. And she was pleasant enough and everything, and not totally unfetching in a "I've had multiple shots of Jager on an empty stomach" kind of way. But, just a word to any ladies reading this who might be curious about how seductive men find it when you inform us, even while dead drunk at a bar, that you are very fertile. Zero is the answer...

On the gambling front, it was that rare perfect storm of a weekend when everything that could go wrong, did. I could rehash some terrible luck, especially in the Nevada/SJSU game, but I won't bore anyone with that. All I know to do is move forward.

I didn't watch the Emmy awards at all. But there is this show that basically swept the board in the comedy categories. It's called Modern Family. I've never seen it. I couldn't tell you for certain what night it airs or which network broadcasts it, to be honest. But I did notice that Al Bundy is in the thing. I don't think Bud or Kelly Bundy are in the cast. But I do wonder if they miss their dad. I mean, Al Bundy wasn't the Leave It In My Beaver type of father or anything. He was always at the tittie-flop bar in his free time. But I still think it's kind of uncool for Al to have moved on to another family entirely (modern or not). It's disturbing to me. And you always have to wonder what the hell happened to Jefferson after the show ended. Is he even still alive??? These are the kinds of things I worry about constantly. This kind of stuff keeps me up nights.