Monday Night Tomfoolery

Last night, I drank $2 Coors products with my Fantasy Football compatriots at a local watering hole. Humorous events unfolded. Here are some highlights from the evening:

  • I mention to Tyler, the David Blaine lover, that the British were planning a flash-mob event underneath his stunt over the Thames. I proclaim that Blaine is just a poor man’s Harry Houdini. Tyler proclaims, “Fuck you and the limeys,” and begins a staunch defense of the man he no doubt wants to experience sexual intercourse with. Just like every other Monday night, the entire table ridicules Tyler immediately after he opens his mouth.
  • The bar has televisions displaying numerous sporting events. Last night, Monday Night Football, game four of the ALCS and WWE Raw were on simultaneously. At one point during WWE action, Stone Cold Steve Austin offers his wrestling rival’s old lady a beer. She refuses said beer. Stone Cold persists. She finally sips the beer and it disgusts her. Upset by the turn of events, Stone Cold grabs her by the nape of the neck and power bombs her tee-totaling ass to the canvas. A great lesson can be learned from this and that is if your bitch does not like beer, than you should power bomb her.
  • Conversation turns to Denver Bronco running back Clinton Portis. Wife of CH cracks off a slew of comments about the man. He is an idiot. She saw him at a bar once and he ordered a glass of White Zinfandel. She delivers the big funny when she utters, “His goatee looks like a goddamn pussy on his face.” (Wife of CH is a master of random comments. She once said of identical twin NFL athletes Tiki and Ronde Barber: “Tiki is more attractive because he has caramel skin.” During a Monday Night game between Denver and St. Louis (and after drinking an excessive amount of wine) she called Kurt Warner’s wife, “A fucking dyke” and summed up the pathetic Denver Bronco defensive performance with the simple comment, “Bitches”).
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HOW Conference New Orleans: Epilogue

It is my first day back in the office after the HOW Design Conference in New Orleans and I have over 100 emails to sift through. While I was gone, I missed a party at CH‘s house. This morning he shot me an email describing what went down:

Here’s a funny story from the party on Saturday.

Juck took on the role of class drunk as we were wrapping up the trivia game. I had a tiebreaker where people had to hula-hoop and do shots at the same time. After the two teams failed at it (neither were Juck’s team) he decided to try it, although he wasn’t supposed to or required to. He failed miserably, and as the rather small hoop consistently fell, he tried picking it up and jumping through it like performing dogs do. That failed too. No one was amused, rather, they were scared. I was convinced his weight of jumping on my wood floor was going to knock some art off the walls. Finally, tired of trying, he returned towards his seat. He appeared to trip over a Coors Light box another team was using as a trash can. Full on like Chevy Chase, he fell into our table that was covered with plates of snacks, beers, chips, dips, etc. He landed against the edge of the table breaking the fall with his forearms. All of the aforementioned food went flying everywhere, people’s beers spilled into their laps, and the dip onto our white rug. After that, everyone was cracking on him unmercifully. Keep in mind; this was the same Juck whose Pakistani roommate broke my coffee table at a party last year.

As the night wore on, he drank more. I found him on the back deck later in the night in a deep discussion with Spotty and a couple other guys about “If you could suck your own dick, would you?” Not surprisingly, he was very vulgar. Guys he had just met that night were very uncomfortable. He was also loud. Very loud. My new neighborhood has a lot of little kids (2-6 years old) in it. So I asked him to keep it down, and he yells at me, “Hey, it’s not my fault you moved to fucking suburbia!”

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