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Monday, September 25, 2006

YOU MAKE RAPE SOUND LIKE SUCH A BAD WORD . . .

Coming back from Redlands on Sunday I had an occasion to stop at Jack in the Box in Blythe--a happenin' place for sure. Lots of high school and college kids enjoying the Colorado River boating activities.

While munching on the fine cuisine I happened to look at the young guys queued up to use the bathroom. One of the kids had a t-shirt that I bet his high school is proud of. It has the high school name, and graduating year, and the tag line is "Raping and Pillaging, but mostly Raping"

I wanted to say "Yo, dude. Cool t-shirt. How 'bout us both going into the bathroom and let me try out that raping thing you like so much. I promise it won't hurt you much, and then maybe I can get a t-shirt too." But while I could have whupped this boy's ass, his friends and fellow rapers would have probably retributed and failed to see the irony. Oh well. Party on.

Wednesday, September 20, 2006

I’M ON TOP! It’s official!


Yesterday the UNITED STATES Post Office delivered a piece of mail to our address. I want to clearly emphasize that the U.S. Post Office is a duly authorized entity and carries out its duties in a proscribed, official way.


The mail bore the first name of my companion and MY last name. That should settle everything in our household. I’m the husband; my partner has to take my last name (Unless of course for professional name recognition in his field he needs to keep his “maiden” name). Regardless, I’m on top. Nyah, nyah, na, nyah, na.


Interestingly, the mail was sent by Progressive Auto Insurance. The Progressive Auto team was thinking of that trendy new target market demographic principle of “Don’t Ask, Do Sell.”


I remain,

Top Man.


Monday, September 18, 2006

MORMON STREET WALKERS


As habit would have it, my flash mob happy hour group ended up at Fuel, a gay bar right on Bell Road in between strip malls and auto dealers. Cheap drinks and good friends on a Friday after work makes you think that your job is not the only one that sucks.

The weather in Phoenix is starting to get tolerable, and at some point in the early evening, the bartender opened the large windows in front, facing Bell. It was nice. Fall cannot be much further away. But at some point soon after the openings, a shout went out from one of the window drunks. MISSIONARIES!

Sure enough, two young, good looking guys in dark slacks, white shirts, and ties were spotted walking (not biking) on Bell. Needless to say, the whole bar (sans a few lesbians) started hooting and hollering, trying to get their attention. All they got was a look from the two, and the determined missionaries passed on down the street. I would imagine the sin that they thought they were most avoiding was that of alcohol. Had they known that it was a gay bar, that would have presented a double sin whammy—alcohol and dick--I’m sure that they would have picked up their pace down Bell Rd. To linger would have undoubtedly allowed the tractor beam of the gay agenda to grab them by their ties and force them to do something unfamiliar in spite of their missionary position.

Having been one those Mormon missionaries, some years ago, I can assume then as they prepared to go to bed that evening they would have both knelt in prayer next to one of the missionary’s bed, and would have thanked God that they are different from those worldly men they saw earlier that night, and that liquor would never touch their lips. But they don’t know dick.


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