Kaye: I never did Whipits but I can tell you that Whipits would not be my drug of choice. I would probably choose cocaine. Seems the most respectable of all the drugs.
Me: Agreed. Meth is too white trash and destructive. Heroin is too involved. You need spoons. Cotton balls. Needles. Basically, you need a kit to get high.
Kaye: I don’t want a kit. That’s for a professional junkie. I want to get high quickly.
Me: Yep. All I want a is a dollar bill and a mirror. Or a hooker’s ass.
Me: Whores and strippers go better with coke, anyway.
Me: I like a drug I can do in the guise of taking a piss, too. “I have to take a piss”. Go into the bathroom. Take a snort. Flush the toilet. Bam! Go back out and party.
Me: Heroin is all about the setup. You need some time. An abandoned stairwell. Or a urine soaked mattress in a vacant lot somewhere.
Kaye: You have really thought about this.
Me: It’s what I do.
Kaye: I have a playhouse that I bought for a friend’s kid for Christmas and she doesn’t want it. Interested?
Me: Maybe. What does it look like?
Kaye: It’s this thing.
Me: The Discovery Kids Playhouse?
Me: I’ll tell what I would discover in that thing. My son touching himself.
Me: I think this sums up the entire Rockies 2011 season.
DJ: I think this sums it up better. You and I are the frog in the scenario.
Me: Can you please stop sending me inter-species rape videos? I find it weird I have to ask that.
DJ: I find it weird I have to answer that question, but the answer is “no”.
DJ: Something that makes the baby Jesus cry and me cry tears of happiness.
Me: That would have helped us in Vegas.
DJ: If we had that in Vegas one or both of us would be dead.
Me: I disagree. A hooker and her family would definitely be dead. But us? Not a chance.
DJ: Like hookers have families. Unless, of course, you mean the other hookers living in her hooker nest.
Me: So like how rabbits live in dens? That’s how hookers live? In hooker dens?
Me: So if a whore dies, then another one just shows up to replace the dead one?
DJ: Yes. Just like bunnies. They huddle together for warmth and know that if a predator comes, there’s safety in numbers. One may die, but at least they improve their survival odds.
Me: By predators you mean guys that drink whiskey from a can?
Me: Thanks for the Xmas card.
Tanya: You are welcome.
Me: I teared up a little because it was so nice.
Tanya: Teared up on the inside, right? Because tearing up on the outside would make you gay.
Me: Yes. I bury all my emotions deep inside because otherwise I would be gay. I would rather drink through my emotional issues and kill a kid in a crosswalk DUI style then talk about my feelings.
Tanya: Sounds like the manly thing to do.
Kaye: We met everyone before the trip at our friend’s house in Highlands Ranch. The Exterra looked out of place around all the Audis and Beemers.
Me: Fucking Highlands Ranch. A girl I used to work with told me she grew up in Highlands Ranch. I told her, “No wonder why you are so boring.” Living on streets named Wildcat Aspen Lane or Wild Mountain River Court or Bobcat Sunset Honeydew Boulevard.
Kaye: All the houses look the same, too.
Me: We went to my cousin’s poker tournament down there awhile back. “Our house is the sage green house on the left side.” Oh really? EVERY OTHER HOUSE WAS FUCKING SAGE GREEN. One house is brown, then ecru then sage green. Repeat until you want to rip your eyes out of your skull.
Kaye: Ha! It’s the crazy homeowners associations down there. Our friend had to have a shade of gray approved before she painted her house.
Me: Jesus, is it 1938 Russia down there? All bleak and ubiquitous? Motherfuckers waiting in line for toilet paper?
Me: Actually, that’s not fair. They are probably waiting in line for a Starbucks latte. Or some trendy plates from Crate and Barrel.
Mark: Have you heard of Art Brut? Euro-Indie rock band. Not bad. That would also be a good name for your next child other than Spilly.
Me: Did you stay up for the game and watch the grand slam?
Mark: I did not. Although I was there for Tulo’s unassisted triple play and that was dope.
Me: This was … doper? More dope? Dopest?
Me: Go suck a bag of dicks. One by one. In order of smallest to largest.
Candee: So as I get tired of sucking dicks, the dicks keep getting bigger and bigger making it even more gay and more painful? Is the last one in that bag a real choker? Like Mike Tyson’s dick?
Me: Well, if it were Mike Tyson’s dick it would rape you and then beat your head in before you sucked it. I was thinking more along the lines of John Holmes‘s dick. It is enormous and then gives you AIDS when it is all over. Because that’s what you get for sucking a bag of dicks.
Gay Joe: This seem fair to me.
Me: I love that picture. A whore alone in a tunnel.
Gay Joe: It is like a fractal; a tunnel inside of a tunnel.
Me: Both are hollow inside.
Gay Joe: Both are sordid and smell of urine.
Me: Both are easily entered and exited.
Gay Joe: Nice.
Me: Still on for tacos this week?
Gay Joe: Totally.
Wil: You ever want to just generally fuck yourself up? Watch CNN World for two hours. The human race is not long for this planet.
Me: Agreed. Hopefully my unborn child will get something out of it all before it blows up.
Wil: I am kind of counting on him/her to fix it all, actually. Is that not going to happen?
Me: If he/she takes after the wife, yes. After me? We are doomed.
Wil: Your spawn has been spoken of in a Nostradamus prophesy. “And she who kicketh ass in softball shall breed with he who has odd hair of the face, and together the savior is born.”
Me: Wow. Thanks? Let us hope said spawn makes the animals go bonkers at the zoo ala The Omen. The original with Gregory Peck. Not that bag of dicks remake with Julia Styles.
Wil: Well played, sir. Going to go get some dinner here in Barcelona. If I can find a place with an early bird special at 8:30 PM, that is. The Spaniards do not like to sleep.
Me: Save for the daily siesta?
Wil: Right. Adios.