Rape? Rape? Hell No, It's All Just Harmless Horseplay

I was out a week ago Friday and ran to Goosie at Wing Joint. He suggested we take a quick trip up Battleground to his old place of semi-employment, the Short Porn Steakhouse. It was like 9 or so and I had nothing better to do. So I acquiesced and rode up the road (funny how that phrase rolls off the old keyboard) with Goosie. We walked into the bar area and Goose started chatting with the various meth-head servers at Short Porn that he's trying to nail. Me? I just sat at the bar and drank a beer. About a half hour passes and Goose is telling all sorts of tales to a very half-interested audience of skanky servers. Someone asked me to tell a joke. And as all of you know, I don't tell jokes. But I was nice. I told this gem, "A termite walks into a bar and asks 'is the bar tender here?'" Then I started laughing uncontrollably. Then Goose started laughing uncontrollably. At this point it was like 10. I had drank 2 beers. I ordered a third. The chick tending bar ignored me at first. Then informed me that the manager had cut me off. Did I mention I'd had 2 beers? This manager fellow ambles very awkwardly behind the bar to do something with the cash register. He was a middle-aged bald man with a huge gut. This heavy manager was wearing what appeared to be a dark greenish dress shirt. I decided to engage him in conversation, seeing as I was stone cold sober and he'd just cut me off and all. I asked this fat manager, "What color is your shirt?" He said. "Brown." I said, "I think it's more of a taupe to be honest with you. But whatever it is, the color has a very slimming effect on your massive girth." At that point, knowing what was inevitably coming next, I got up, screamed over to Goose that we're out of here, and strode out of the bar. It was quite an experience - getting cut off at the Short Porn Steakhouse for telling a joke about a termite. It could only happen to me...

I just saw a comment that someone left recently on this stupid blog. In it, the commenter was concerned I might be going to hell for the things I write on here. Now, if there is a hell, I certainly will be there right beside Geilfuss & Ross and it will suck and all. But I'm not going to hell for anything I've written on here. Any damage I've done on here is a mere petty crime against the Lord. It's everything else I've done that I'd have to be worried about. Of course the worst part of hell would be listening to Ross bitch for eternity about the quality of the Scotch available. That would get old quickly. Quickly...

Another pitiful Thanksgiving has come and gone. Gobble. Gobble. Whatever.

I was out at Sloppys for Thanksgiving Eve. The Indian owner of the joint threw a party for his best customers where he had a buffet of Thanksgiving favorites available (ham, turkey, potted meat...). Now, there's no way I'm one of his best customers. But one of the servers in the joint slipped me a free invite to this party and I will eat some free potted meat. So, I showed up. All the regular Sloppys degenerates were there. Moose and his crew. Creepy gay Larry. Scores of toothless Duke fans. Fat women. Skanks. It was about what you'd expect. At one point Brandon & I were outside smoking with this homeless kid who hangs around the Subway next door. This homeless kid was interested in getting some of the free buffet. I told him that I'd be happy to get him a plate, but instead of eating it he'd be better off just taking the food into the shitter and tossing it down. At least he'd be cutting out the middleman that way...

Someone at work in Durham asked me if they could follow me on Twitter. I said, "No."

Some of you may remember a post back in September in which I described my man Legend - you remember, the kid who claimed he just "takes shots and pulls women." I ran into Legend again last Sunday at the infamous Kickin Chicken. I did not see his running buddy Closer with him this time. Legend was at the end of the back bar hitting on 2 chicks with Kirstie Alley like figures. And yes, he was buying shots like his hair was on fire. I counted three rounds of shots for him and his fair-haired buxom babes in like 45 minutes. Eventually I walked over to Legend and we exchanged pleasantries. In fact, Legend hugged me like we were long lost twins or something. I'd only hung out with the guy once and given him a bad football pick to boot. But Legend is a very gregarious guy. He's a real people person. Much like I'd be, if I didn't hate everybody. Anyway, I got to chatting with one of the buxom babes Legend was trying to make time with. She is a social studies teacher at a local high school. What I started doing to amuse myself was debate with this social studies teacher about how many amendments there are to the US Constitution. She kept saying 27 and I kept insisting it was at least 3,000. At least, maybe more. No one can be certain. She tolerated my silliness okay. She kept running her hand threw her hair - a telltale sign that a girl might be DTF, as my man The Situation might say. I was not DTF myself. I'm more DTM - down to mock - most days anyway. I think this voluptuous social studies teacher might have caught on that I was fucking with her a little when I went off on a long tirade against the Treaty of Ghent. I'm against all treaties. Ghent. Versailles. Paris. Westphalia. Whatever. Treaties suck.

I heard a little more about this situation at Penn St. Remember this, at Penn State there's no rape. It's just horseplay. Rape? No. Just horseplay. The rhythmic slapping of ass cheeks - that's just horseplay. I'm gonna start calling Penn State Horseplay U. Because at Penn St there is no rape, it's all just fucking horseplay...