No matter what Philadelphia claims, San Fran has the whole “City of Man-on Man Love” title locked up. I was speaking to some females who live out there and they were saying that it’s impossible to find straight single men. As my friend says, “If you’ve got an Adam’s apple and don’t like cock, it’s a buyer’s market.”
Of course, this is the same guy who somehow managed to pick up an entire department of straight, female firefighters.
I was thinking that I should invest in this shirt. You know, just to inform ladies of my stance on penis. In case anyone was wondering it’s this: I have enough that I’m not looking for more.
Actually, I don’t think that I’m going to be looking for any companionship while visiting our “jazz-hands” flaunting west-coast neighbors. In fact, there’s a good chance that I’ll simply get drunk, rowdy, and fiercely antisocial. And by antisocial I mean becoming basically the person I represent here in this blog.
Because I foresee a perfect storm of drinking developing on the horizon. Parties on the road are dangerous for a good reason: there are no consequences. The next day there are no brothers, fathers or husbands to come looking for revenge because you’ve already skipped town. It’s almost as if nothing you did ever really happened.
On top of that, I’ll be hanging out with at least one experienced drinker, and trying to deal with recently becoming single. So God only knows what this weekend is going to bring. Really, there are equally good chances that I’ll manage to reach my hotel or that I’ll be killed in a high stakes, back-ally knife fight. Come on, after reading some of the stories of my life, would anyone really be shocked if that’s how this all came to an end? Lest you think that I exaggerate the trouble that parties on the road bring, I have a story for you.
A couple years ago a few of my friends and I drove down to New Jersey to attend a party. The shindig was being held by a friend of mine, who called me up and said, “Hey, you should bring some friends along with you.” Which I interpreted as “Bring cock.” So a bunch of us piled into a car headed out for the wilds of Dirt Jersey.
The party ended up sucking heavily. So the decision was made for two of my comrades to head out in search of poker chips and playing cards. The two chosen on this life or death mission were named Iz and Spencer.
The two took my car and were driving along without luck for quite some time before they saw a Walmart. They parked and wandered through the store for a while until they found an entire poker set, which they promptly grabbed.
As they were heading back towards the checkout lanes, however, Spencer suddenly stopped.
“Hey, Iz, have you noticed that we haven’t seen anyone since we came in here?”
The two did a full 360 and realized that there wasn’t another soul in sight: no greeters, no stock boys, no clerks, and no other shoppers: the place was dead. Two employees in the back froze and turned pale when my friends finally found them.
“Guys, we don’t want any trouble. You’re on film now, so don’t do anything stupid.”
“What do you mean? We just want to buy this poker set.”
“We can’t do that. The store’s closed, and everything’s locked up.”
“The front door’s not.”
“Yes it is.”
“No it’s not.”
“OK, just calm down and tell us what you want.”
“Look, we’re not trying to rob you! The front door is fucking open and all the lights are on!”
So my friends had to leave empty-handed. This story would be amusing if it ended here—but it keeps going.
Perhaps half a mile down the street, the two passed a convenience store on the opposite side. Without thinking, my friend pulled a quick U-Turn. As soon as he did so, sirens went off behind him.
By the time John Law had walked up to the window, Iz was in full spin mode.
“Oh officer, thank goodness I found you. My friend and I are lost. We’ve been driving around all night trying to find Sparrow Lane, we have no idea where we are and I--”
“Shut up a second, ‘Sir,’” snapped the officer. “Do you realize that it’s illegal to make a U-Turn? Give me your license and registration.”
Of course, Spenser and Iz were driving my car, and had no idea where my registration was. The officer grew more and more impatient as my friends rummaged through my glove compartment. Just as they found the papers and were about to hand them over, the cop’s walkie-talkie blurted:
“Attention, unit 8. Attempted robbery reported at 701 West Main Street. Repeat, reported robbery at the Walmart on West Main.”
The officer took a quick look at the registration, tossed it back in the car and said, “Sparrow is two block down on the left. Have a good night.”
The second the officer’s car pulled out Spencer grabbed Iz’s shirt and yelled “DRIVE.”
So let’s see, for one night we had drinking and driving, breaking and entering, attempted robbery, illegal U-Turn, and calling a peace-officer an inappropriate name. And this is my friends going out of their way to be law-abiding.
So there’s a good chance that my weekend will end with death, incarceration, or pepper spray. Wish me luck. If there’s no post on Monday, you’ll all know why.
3 comments:
I remember that night well. Hit San Fransico like it was Tina Turner and you was Bobby Brown.
There was one girl at that party I still want to talk to, so stay alive and lets go back. Be safe brotha.
Well it's Monday and no post. Should we be worried?
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