Funny Lines Without A Home And I Call A Duly-Elected Representative Some Very Bad Names

A lot of people ask me, “Ehren, how can I write like you?” My answer’s pretty simple:

Discontinue sleep for 8 days while gorging on a steady diet of cocoa puffs, cartoons and enough mind-altering drugs to bring down a bull-elephant. I keep telling people: I run almost completely on sarcasm and alcohol.

Over the months I’ve been writing this blog, I’ve had a bunch of lines, ideas and stories that I was never able to successfully work into a post. Below are some of the good ones:

• I was down in Philadelphia last weekend. I didn’t really get a good look at the sign for the city, but I gather it’s the home of some kind of man-on man love.
• Some guys would be insulted when their girl asked, “Is it in yet?” I wasn’t. I just said, “Bitch, I’m already done!”
• Here’s a tip: if you’re dating a very flat-chested women, don’t ask “Why do you even bother wearing a bra?”
• I was with a girl who told me that she wanted me to talk more when I was having sex with her. But I couldn’t think of anything to say, so I just started yelling the lines I heard in the last porno movie I saw. “Hi, I’m here to fix the pool.” “God, it’s so much better than my husband.” “Oh baby, you’re so big!”
• Fat, talkative friends: God’s birth-control.
• Once a girl asked me, “Is it ok if I call you ‘Daddy’ while we’re making love?” I answered, “Only if I can call you ‘Aunt Phillus.’”

In reality, only one of the above situations ever happened. I think it’d be better if I didn’t say which one is real. I’ll leave it to your imagination. Still, this is the kind of shit I think about at 3 A.M. on Tuesday nights when I can’t fall asleep.

Here’s a story that really did happen: Apparently I told the mayor of my town to go fuck himself.

My sister came home shaken one day because a man around the block started screaming at her when she was out walking her dog. So the next day I took the dog out, and sure enough, a fat dude in a bathrobe came charging out of the house when he saw me.

“Get that fucking dog off this street, dickhead.” He said, by way of a greeting.

“The street is public property. The dog’s not on your lawn.”

“I’m calling the cops, jerk-off.”

“Call the cops, you tub of shit. Is this the way you compensate for being a failure in the rest of your life? Harassing 12 year-old girls and strangers? If you talk to my sister again, I’ll come to your house and I will fucking crack you.”

“You can’t talk to me like that! I’m calling the cops!”

“Go fuck yourself! I already told you to call the cops. Take another step towards me and I will drop you like your mother for two bucks at the truck stop.”

He stepped back up on his lawn and proceeded to howl obscenities at me. I turned my back on him and extended a middle finger by way of farewell. All things considered, I thought that it had gone rather well.

It was two weeks later that my father mentioned something in passing about sharing the neighborhood with the mayor. “Really?” I said. “Where’s he live?”

“Just around the block. The house with the wood paneling.”

Look, I didn't know he was the mayor. I thought he was just some local idiot with too much time on his hands. Turns out he was both. Hey, at least now I know why I keep getting parking tickets.