What’s that smell?

In case you are sitting there in front of your computer wondering what that smell is… you know, that scent that reminds you of someone who accidentally dried their laundry with an entire box of 100 dryer sheets.

That’d be me.

I have the softest, itchiest underwear in the city.

I died the other day.

My friend Mitchell and I are at Good Friends the other night.

Mitchell is singing Frank Sanatra songs in the style of Cher and I am drinking vodka in the style of Judy Garland.

Mitchell returns to the stool next to my own after slaughtering “He Drinks Tequila, She Talks Dirty In Spanish” with a transexual.

Mitchell has a suspicious smirk on his face

Before I can ask him what is going on, the VERY drunk hairdresser sitting next to me, wearing a far-too-tight blue “It’s a Boy” t-shirt, leans over and puts his cheek up to my lips. Keeping my distance (of a half inch) I say:

Me: You’re drunk arn’t you?
Hairdresser: AHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhblllraahhhrrrrr.

He had compeletely lost control of the English language.

Mitchell sits down next to me.

Mitchell: I just saw the saddest thing ever. You know how when you someone tries to dye their hair and doesn’t know what their doing, they’ll horribly stain their head? Go look at the older gentleman in the corner.

In the corner, the older gentleman’s chest was stained a dark black from when he had attempted to dye his grey chest hair to match the dyed hair on his head. He is also wrongfully wearing a skimpy green tanktop.

A few minutes later, the hairdresser is gone.

Mitchell and I talk for a bit longer and I see the hairdresser leaning stripper-like against the pole outside of Moon Wok. His right hand is clasping the pole above his head, his left hand is holding his t-shirt up under his chin and his head is cast back in ecstasy.

Stained-Chest Man is sucking on his nipple.

I am startled. I shreek and point in their general direction.

Me: Oh my god, look!
Mitchell (sarcastically): Don’t point, that’s rude.

Mitchell and I died, right there, from laughter.

I can only hope that never happens to me.

Uhg! Fucking White Trucks!

Today, when riding home, I got ran off the road by some tool in a stupid, double-wide, big, white pick’em up truck. I was coming down Esplanade and he was parked on the side of the road with his lights on and his front end slanted way out in the road. I knew he was about to pull out but I saw him sitting there for a good 45 seconds or so as I was approaching, like he was waiting for me to pass. Instead, just as I ride by, he guns it and flys out into the street. I swerved to avoid him and he gunned it AGAIN and this time I kind of grazed off the side of his truck. At first I thought it was an honest mistake and I shouted “whoah!” but then I saw him laughing. LAUGHING. The fucker almost killed me and thought it was a hoot.

Christ Among the Partisans

A coworker of mine forwarded this excellent editorial from the New York Times entitled Christ Among the Partisans. It quotes a bit from Matthew that I’ve always liked, “”When you pray, be not like the pretenders, who prefer to pray in the synagogues and in the public square, in the sight of others. In truth I tell you, that is all the profit they will have. But you, when you pray, go into your inner chamber and, locking the door, pray there in hiding to your Father, and your Father who sees you in hiding will reward you” (Matthew 6:5-6).” He uses this bit to illustrate how Jesus wouldn’t nessisarily be for prayer in schools, although I’ve always saw it as a condemnation of organized religion as a whole.

“The Romans did not believe Jesus when he said he had no political ambitions. That is why the soldiers mocked him as a failed king, giving him a robe and scepter and bowing in fake obedience (John 19:1-3). Those who today say that they are creating or following a “Christian politics” continue the work of those soldiers, disregarding the words of Jesus that his reign is not of this order.”