Eat Your Hamburger Next to Me

I want you to eat your hamburger right next to me as I sit here on the airplane. I want to smell it. I want to smell the ketchups and the mustards and the sweet relish.

On an unrelated note- I think I might be developing scoliosis as a result of this Eastern European torture chair that gently cradles my spine in the delightfully painful shape of the capital letter "C". If you don't mind I would also like to ask you one question- are those Sweet Maui Onion chips making you thirsty? I could easily go to the commode and fill your water bottle with urine if you like. Just let me know...

Your friendly neighbor,

Passenger 57

Business Friday

Business: Follow me on Facebook.
Me: You go f yourself.

Happy Thanksgiving

"The best thing about Thanksgiving has got to be cleaning up after everyone else has gone home." said Grandpa as he finished loading the dishwasher. "Well shit my pants!" he exclaimed, kneeling down in front of the sink. "We're out of dishwashing detergent. I guess I'll go to the store and get some more."

"What did you say dear?" asked Grandma.

"Nothing. I'm running up to the market. I'll be back in a jiffy."

"Ok. Did you finish the dishes?"

"I'll finish YOUR dishes..." he mumbled, walking out the door and fumbling while he shoved his arms through the sleeves of his heavy flannel barn shirt.

"What?"

"NOTHING!" he shouted. He walked out the the detached garage jiggling his unusually large key ring in his right hand. Grandpa had always been kind of a packrat, and his key ring served as a pocket-sized monument to his increasing reluctance to throw anything away.

The garage was a good 100 feet from the house, and on unusually dark nights such as this it was impossible to see your way on the unlit path. He'd made the trip a million times, and knew every detail that lay in the dark. He carefully stepped over the old rusted red wagon left in front of the garage door, reached into the doorway and flipped on the light. Nothing happened.

"Just my luck. What's next? My dick going to fall off?"

He flipped the lightswitch back to the off position and stepped into the garage. Just then he heard the sound of a pot hitting the concrete floor. "Must be the cat." he said aloud. There was a rustling sound. This time it came from the opposite side of the garage.

"Ain't no way that was the cat." he thought. "Anybody there?" He paused, waiting for a response. Nothing. He quickly made his way to the Chrysler and opened the driver's side door. Just then a shadowy figure lept from the dark corner in front of the car and tackled Grandpa to the floor. In the low light from the open car door, he saw a dreamy teenage vampire wearing a fashionable pea coat sitting on his chest, pinning him down. Grandpa tried to struggle, but soon realized it was useless.

"At least I don't have to finish the dishes." said Grandpa, as the charismatic young vampire flashed his fangs and leaned in for the kill.

"Gobble, gobble." said the vampire.

Marker

Do me a favor- if you see this guy, please beat the living shit out of him. Don't kill him, just beat him within an inch of his life. Also, if you could do it in front of a lot of people, that would be great.

Coincidence?

Steven Tyler + Joe Perry

equals

Tyler Perry



Coincidence? Or is God speaking to me?

Like a Movie

Why can't my life be fun and exciting... like a movie?

Tough Beef

After I dropped Andy off at school I drove down the side street towards the main highway. I had never been this way before, so I was paying more attention than usual. I noticed an unusual amount of manufactured homes that butted up against the narrow road. There was barely enough room for two cars, and there certainly wasn't a lane divider. Should another car come barreling towards me I would have to quickly veer off into the high grass that occupied the shoulder.

As I approached the highway I noticed a large group of cars parked off to the right. A few seconds later I could see a large, run down building sitting on a vast parking lot which was partially paved, and partially dirt, but completely dilapidated. The building was white stucco with dark brown wooden trim and featured a red tile roof. The roof line had been purposefully designed to look like some unholy American version of a Chinese temple. "This must be a Chinese restaurant" I thought to myself. I looked at the sign, which was posted on the East wall, as well as on a large post out front. It read "Tough Beef" in exotic, Asian sign calligraphy. I could see a neon sign in the window that flashed "Open" in red.

I was hungry, but not in the mood for Chinese food. For some reason I was compelled to pull into the parking lot, and park near a chain link fence that separated the restaurant's parking area from the storage facility located next door. There were so many cars in the parking lot I just had to go in and see what was going on. "This place must have been here since the early 70's" I thought to myself. Seeing that it had obviously not been updated, I guessed I would be in for a trip down memory lane. I walked in the dual oval doors and was greeted by a small Mexican lady with a toothy grin. "Bienvenidos!" she said as she rounded the corner, approaching me. It was almost as if she was expecting me.

"This is no Chinese restaurant!" I said to myself. "This is a Mexican place." I was ecstatic. The hostess sat me in a booth with a painting of the Virgin Mary hanging watchfully above. The wall was avocado green and the bench was sparkly red vinyl. Like most booths, the bench seat felt low, and when I put my hands on the table I felt like a muppet anchorman reading the news. I ordered chicken nachos, and they were the greatest nachos I had ever tasted. With each bite I noticed that every ingredient was represented in a consistently perfect ratio. And the consistency- the consistency was heavenly.

I listened in on the conversation between two ladies sitting at a table near my booth. "They catered my daughter's wedding." said the woman with her back to me. "It was good, but I don't think I would ever choose Mexican food for a wedding. It's just not very classy." She took a sip of beer. Her friend was nodding her head in agreement as she sipped on her Margarita. For a moment I felt sorry for the woman's daughter, as I imagined her mother's complaints during the wedding weren't limited to the food.

After my meal I asked the hostess about the restaurant. She informed me that she and her husband moved here from New Mexico in 1986 and bought the restaurant.

Summer With Grandma

"I'm baaaack" he screamed as he ran into the house, slamming the screen door behind him.

"Oh dear" his grandmother said. "How did you manage to get off the bus?"

"I bribed the bus driver with the $40 you gave me" he said proudly. "I told you I don't want to go to Summer Camp."

"You're a real Houdini" she sighed. "I guess its just you and me for the next 6 weeks."

"Great. I'm going over to Dave's house."

"I don't think so. You owe me $40. You're doing chores until you pay off your debt."

And so began his Summer of hard labor.

My Date With a Vampire

It's embarrassing to admit, but I have terrible luck with relationships. I mean, I've turned more women gay than softball. But lets be honest, finding love in today's romantic landscape is challenging. That's why I lowered my standards and signed up for Match.com. After sifting through the vast wasteland of cat ladies and shemales, I finally found Ms. Right. Her name was Samantha, and she was a vampire.

I saw her profile last week and I made first contact by sending a quick message that read "You're hot. I am employed and I speak English. Want to go on a date?" The next day I had an email in my inbox that said "You have a new message...". I frantically opened my web browser and navigated to the dating site to see who had responded to one of my many "feeler" messages. Samantha's reply came with just one word- "sure". Of course I had to follow up to get her phone number and address, but I won't bore you with those details.

She wanted to meet me at midnight out in the woods underneath the weeping willow tree on the night of the first full moon. "How romantic!" I thought.

The night of the big date I made sure to follow my standard pre-date ritual, which consists of making a trip to the ATM, changing into clean underwear, saying 100 Hail Mary's, drinking a Scope-tequila cocktail, and sticking an icepack down my pants for a good half-hour.

I drove out to the woods and arrived at the weeping willow tree 15 minutes early. I sat and waited nearly 2 hours before realizing I'd been stood up. With a deflated ego I walked back to my car and drove home, where I watched Twilight twice before falling asleep.

Once, Twice, Three Times a Bridesmaid

I've been to plenty of weddings over the years, many of which shotgun. Most of them are indistinguishable, as they all seem to follow the same general pattern. "Do you take this man, sickness and health, love and cherish, until death or financial trouble..." "Do you take this woman, sickness and health again, honor and obey, until something better walks along..."

The ceremony usually lasts a little too long and during the 30 minutes or so in which I can't talk or distract myself I am stuck in a folding chair examining my darkest inner-most thoughts. I look around and catch a tearful look on the bride's mom's face and I start to well up. But then I see the groom's nephew playing with his iPhone and my thoughts turn violent as I reach down and grab a nice, round river rock. I check out the bridesmaids and wonder why they avoid my efforts to establish intense eye contact. "The sun must be in their eyes" I think to myself.

After the ceremony I grab a plate of food and smuggle it out to the parking lot and eat in my car, so as to avoid eating with strangers and the awkward conversation that follows. I then take a few hits off the flask, dump some altoids in my mouth, and walk confidently back into the reception area, where I am met with an air of celebration, and people desperately trying to find segues for leaving.

I dance with a drink in my hand because I think it looks cool, and I loosen my tie for the same reason. In between slow dances I play the "mother-daughter" game in which I stare at a girl until her mother notices.

After the reception I go home by myself and leaf through the wedding magazines I keep in the bathroom as a single tear rolls down my face.