Gay Joe: www.trueacceptance.com.
Me: I am sure some ex-girlfriends of mine use that service.
Gay Joe: I am going to make a profile: “Tranny suffering from post-coital Pseudobulbar palsy with anger management issues seeking same in Denver.”
Me: Wow. That would be awesome if you found someone.
Gay Joe: Ha! “You have 228 new messages.”
Me: That site would have been a dream come true for me in college since I tended to veer towards messed up chicks back then. They had daddy issues; either he touched them too much or did not touch them enough. I essentially dated strippers before they hit the pole, Joey. Before they completely died on the inside.
Gay Joe: It is a good idea to date them before said inner-death; it is something I like to call “pre-hookering.” In my tribe, that is pretty much everyone by age 18, so I had it easy.
Me: Pun intended.
Gay Joe: Exactly.
Jake: The ShamWow guy sues Scientology.
Me: I am debating the purchase of ShamWows.
Jake: Ha! Check this one out. “You are gonna love my nuts.”
Me: He is right, that tuna does look boring. “If I can do it with one finger, you can do it with one hand.”
Jake: The guy is a genius.
Jake: He is like a sideshow magician, throwing around some Three-Card Monte.
Me: You are getting the Slap Chop for your birthday.
Kaye: Where are you working from today?
Me: A coffee shop in Boulder. I am meeting with a vendor this morning and he chose this joint.
Me: I cannot wait to be an old man at a coffee shop. These codgers are sitting next to me and have been talking about the weather for the past hour.
Kaye: With their newspapers and their sweater vests?
Me: Well it is Boulder, so gray beards, flannel shirts…
Kaye: …and some LL Bean khaki pants?
Me: Right. And instead of a regular newspaper they are reading an alternative paper. Something that bashes Republicans and the “establishment.”
Kaye: God. Old Boulder dudes.
Me: They are not even cool old dudes wearing a Fedora, walking all slow and talking about losing their buddies during the WW-deuce.
Kaye: Ha! They are just old Hippies. The worst kind of Hippy.
Me: Yes. Because they are old enough to know that their peace-loving, cheeba-smoking rhetoric does not work anymore.
Kaye: Totally. You know what looks good on a Hippy?
Kaye: No. Fire.
Me: Even better.
DJ: Jesus in French fry format.
Me: The Son of God looks delicious!
DJ: Willy Porter does a song called “Jesus on the Grill” but he is talking about the grill of a truck…
Me: …not a grill with a rack of ribs?
Me: Brings a whole new meaning to transubstantiation. I took a lot of communion as a young indoctrinated Catholic and if Jesus tasted like a brisket and French fries? I might not have strayed so far from the church.
DJ: “I am hungry! When is church?”
DJ: You could tell how good the barbecue was at a church by the size of the congregation.
Me: We could start the Church of the Holy Barbecue.
DJ: Or at the very least a restaurant called A Religious Experience.
Me: Where all the wait staff is dressed like Jesus during the crucifixion and instead of blood they are slathered in…
DJ: …barbecue sauce?
Me: Yes! They slap down a pork sandwich in front of you and say, “The swine of Christ.”
Me: Oh man. I just had a really fucked up thought. Have a guy dressed up as Abraham, give him a sacrificial knife and have him bring a newborn baby out to a table. Just when he gets ready to slaughter the baby have the Mexican kitchen manager yell from the back of the restaurant (like the voice of God), “No Mas!” Then Abraham picks up the baby all nurturing and loving and says to the patrons, “Only kidding! Have some more brisket!”
DJ: Wow. You are right. That was fucked up.
Gay Joe: I do not know why but I love this.
Me: You are fucked in the head. That is why.
Gay Joe: Well, yeah. So are you, though.
Me: Agreed. It is why we get along.
Gay Joe: It is always nice to know that you may run into someone you know if the State ever forces you into the asylum.
Gay Joe: “Matty?! Is that you?!” “Yeah! Wow! Shock therapy?” “Yup!” “Right on!”
Me: [screaming at cops] “FUCKIN’ PIGS! GET YOUR FUCKIN’ HANDS OFF ME! Oh, hey Joe. How are you man? … FUCKIN’ PIGS!”
Gay Joe: See you in Pueblo someday, Matty.
Me: Right back at you, fruitcake.
Wil: This communique may be brief. Damn third world countries and their third world internet.
Me: It is the rebels I am guessing. Monitoring for subversive conversation.
Wil: Could be some Sandinistas. I am in their hometown after all. Birthplace of Sandino himself.
Me: Well in that case, Viva Sandinistas! We love you!
Wil: Nice. Leon is also where that crazy poet gunned down Somoza. There are statues of him everywhere. Rigoberto Perez, I think it was. Cold John Lennon’d his ass. I could be wrong. I have had many Victorias.
Me: Well, when you are a dictator you have it coming. I mean, you have to know someone will pop a cap in your ass.
Wil: Yeah. Leon is like Boulder. Total liberal town. It would be like Pat Robertson coming to Boulder and making derogatory remarks about wheat grass. Some hippie would kill his ass.
Me: Or just try to offer him some really choice weed.
Wil: Ha! Tomorrow I head to Granada because this town sucks. Much like Boulder. I want wear a Somoza Rules t-shirt make a statement similar to your Shut Up Hippie bumper sticker. It might end up worse than someone keying my car, though.
Me: They tend to cut off your head for freedom of expression down there, Willie.
Wil: Man, if prison had air conditioning I would do anything to get thrown in. It is hot down here, Holmes.
Me: Like flames of hell hot?
Wil: Like sweat indoors but do not realize it until your shirt is soaked through hot.
Me: Like your balls sticking to your legs and smelling of old cheese hot.
Wil: Exactly. I stink really bad right now and there is a water shortage so I cannot do any laundry.
Me: You are in the jungle, dude. Fuck it. When we were in St. Lucia showers meant nothing to me. Mostly because after taking a shower I would not be able dry off for three days.
Wil: Good point. But my jeans are especially bad. Alright, I have to get the hell out of this steamy internet cafe because it is making me sweat more and smell worse.
Me: Remember to rubber up.
Wil: Will do. Adios!
Web Designer: God. That site looks like clown puke.
Me: Totally. And not the good kind of clown puke.
Web Designer: There is a good kind of clown puke?
Me: Sure. Like when you punch a clown in the stomach so hard that it makes him vomit? That is the good kind. It is even better when you get some blood mixed in there.
Web Designer: I am happy that you are my boss.
DJ: The Elliot Spitzer prostitute flow chart.
Me: See, now this is why I hate society. I mean, who cares if he buys a whore? Aside from killing her I am cool with it. Even then, it is circumstances such as these that killing a hooker seems acceptable.
DJ: So basically you just want a class of disposable people?
Me: Have you ever been inside a Wal-Mart Super Center on a weekend? I would say we are already there.
Gay Joe: Conjugal Harmony, Matty.
Me: Awesome. BrandiY is hot.
Gay Joe: I liked Fisty.
Me: Yeah. Good name. Did you check out Chopper? Her convictions are drug trafficking, murder, plus some small stuff.
Gay Joe: Ha! I would totally date a prison chick. Finally, I would get me a real man.
Me: Those girls are more man than me, Joey.
Gay Joe: These are the kinds of gals that could win a fight in a back alley while eight months pregnant. Gotta respect that.
Me: Totally. Plus they would not care about getting their fetus cut out of their uterus as long as they won.
Gay Joe: Yup.
Me: I love these convictions: I kill a man what who raped me but DNA said he didn’t so it was murder or Two counts premedicated murder on my sister kids I used to wash.
Gay Joe: Premedicated murder? Used to wash? That is awesome.
Me: Wait … I found the best one. Look at Chesty Heavens’ convictions: I beat up this bitch cop with my bare knuckles and she died so I’m done for life. Lets chat!
Gay Joe: Wow. That IS super.
Me: She’s a special lady.
Me: The wife asked me yesterday, “If a comet were to hit the earth tomorrow and end all life as we knew it what would I do with my last day on earth?”
DJ: What did she say?
Me: “I would have a big dinner with all our family and friends.”
DJ: What did you say?
Me: “I would pick up a whore and kill her. Then I would come to that dinner.”
DJ: I can almost hear her squeal “Matty!”
Me: She did. I am totally and completely serious, though.
DJ: I know.
Me: I would not even have to hide the body.
DJ: Take the body to dinner with you and prop it up at the table.
Me: Even better. “Who is that, Matty?”
DJ: “Dead whore. Pass the butter?”
Me: As in, asking the dead whore to pass me the butter? Because that would rule. “Dead whore, can you please lead us in grace?”
DJ: Then just sit there in silence for a moment while everyone stares at you all freaked out. Then look up and say, “Amen.”
Me: I am glad you are my friend.