Was I Really THAT BIG of An Asshole?

So, years and pounds ago, I was a good lookin' kid.

I could get chicks to do things, within minutes of meeting them, that would make their parents cringe.

A Few Examples

BJ
I'm in high school and at Six Flags with my buddies. I meet this girl in an arcade and quickly sense that she's not of the highest moral character.

To make a long story short, she ends up giving me her number, and later that night, I call her.

She says her mom's out of town and she's all alone...she wants some company...could I come over and stay with her?

So, being a high school kid with an ever present erection, I say yes.

I call my buddies and tell them that I know of a house with no parents. Remember, in high school, you were always looking for a place to drink...

So, three of my buddies and I pile into my car and drive out there.

I'm not there five minutes, and she leads me down the hall and into her bedroom.

She shuts the door and I'll leave the rest up to you...

I saw her a couple times that summer, and as a matter of fact, me and my friends gave her a nickname.

Apparently we weren't the only ones...

I'd openly refer to her by the nickname and when I'd call her house and her mom would answer, I'd ask for BJ and her mom would say "She's here. One moment please."

Blind Date
Sort of...

I heard through my friend Van, that a friend of his sister really liked to "service" guys.

So, naturally I was like "dude! set me up!"

Which he did.

So, we went out on a double date.

My date sat in the front seat and Van and his date sat in the rear...of my 1979 Camaro...cozy.

We drive aimlessly for an hour or so, and then the sun goes down.

I decide it's time to "test the waters", so I pull into a secluded construction site. My date and I exit the car, and leave Van and his date in the back seat, to get better acquainted.

I walk into some tall brush and she's walking slightly ahead of me. She turns to me and says "I don't know if I'm ready to sleep with you yet."

I've known her for an hour and she says this.

Me, ever quick on my feet, simply respond "Oh, I didn't expect you to. I just want a blow job."

"Oh, is that it?"

ZZZZZIIIIIIIIIPPPPPPP

The "Sleep-Over Friend
Van was always a great source for girls. Not that he had a harem, but his sister had A LOT of cute friends who were only two or three years younger than us.

Any time I spent the night at Van's there was one girl, who in particular, I would always tell Van to have his sister ask to spend the night too.

Anyway, we built a history in that any time I spent the night, she spent the night, you get the picture.

So, I come home one particular evening, no wait, that's George Thoroughgood...Anyway, Van and I were fucking around at his house, playing Nintendo, who knows?? and we decide to take a drive to see if we can find something else to do.

We get to the end of his street, and we see two girls.

One is my "sleep-over" friend and the other is a friend of his sister's.

Vince is like "dude, see if they need a ride."

I pull to the curb and ask them if they need a lift somewhere (I know, it's quite Chester...but I was seventeen). Since they live at least 4 miles away, they quickly respond YES!

I have only one caveat...I tell my "friend" that I want "a favor".

She thinks I'm kidding and giggles as she gets into the car.

I head toward her house and then take a detour to a rural area a few minutes away.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm typing this...yet I can't beleive I did it. What a scum bag.

I park the car and get out.

She's like "Are you serious??? Aaarrgghhh! Not tonight! I have to get home! My parents will kill me if I'm late!"

To which I respond, "The sooner you do it, the sooner I can take you home..."

We stroll down the hill and leave Van and the other girl to become more acquainted.

Ten minutes later, we stroll back up the hill and I drive the girls home...just a few minutes late.

I talk to Van later, who is still a flaming virgin at this point, and he told me he tried to "mess around" with the girl, but she just wouldn't...he even used his best line on her "We know eachother don't we? We like eachother, don't we?"

Now THAT'S Chester...

Looking back, knowing what I know now, and what beautiful souls women are, I'm horrified at my actions.

Don't get me wrong, as a 17 year old kid, it was the time of my life...but God help the first punk that arrives at my house in a 1979 Camaro to take my daughter on a date...LOCK N' LOAD!

I'm Frustrated

I have the knowledge, the plan, the skills, the tenacity (not temerity) and the desire to change things for the better and turn this place around.

My efforts are mostly thwarted by the powers that be, out of cowardice, and there's nothing I can do about it.

Seen Today

Peering through my sleep encrusted eyes this morning, maintaining the slow pace of the traffic ahead of me, I spot a red Toyota pickup with a bumper sticker that reads:

Elevator repair guys always get it up

Nice.

Classy even.

I don't have any bumper stickers on my car.

Never have.

But if I did, I would have one of someone pissing on the Calvin pissing sticker.

Have You Ever...

walked in on friends having sex?

Yes.

I have.

In college.

You see, my friend Van and I had biology lecture together and I walked back to his dorm after class one day.

Later that evening, I went to study, and realized my backpack was still at Van's.

So, I called him and told him I was coming over to get it.

I trekked five minutes to his dorm, walked into his room and the first thing I saw was Van's boy in Meredith's mouth.

My backpack lay there on the floor, behind the bunk bed.

So, I walk that direction, and glance up to see Meredith's girl being attended to as well.

Van leans away from the service area for a moment and says "Hey. What's up?"

I reciprocate the greeting, grab my stuff and get out.

Now, tell me about YOUR experience.

You ever walked in on something similar? Ever had someone walk in on you?

Ice Queen

So we all went to a friend's wedding this weekend. It was fun. For some of us.

The Back Story:

Phillipe is a friend from high school. Me, Jackson and Van were great pals with him through high school and into college.

We've gotten older and grown apart a bit, but still see each other maybe once a year. I was surprised to see we were all invited to the wedding.

The Wedding Story:

So, we get there and we're at Table 29. The photographer is at Table 30. We all make jokes about how offended we are, but Van is seriously pissed and leaves shortly after dinner.

The Ice Queen:

Remember a while back how I posted about this evil person that Trixie and I bumped into at Home Depot? You know, the wife of a good friend and the reason that good friend and I don't speak any more? Well, she was there, at the wedding (her hubby was in it), along with Bret and his wife. Bret is a friend, used to be quite a close one, that I had a falling out with over a business deal, and subsequently we don't speak either. He didn't do something he promised to do, I yelled at him a lot and now we don't talk.

Bret's an ameoba.

He wouldn't so much as make eye contact with anyone at our table.

Pathetic.

Dude, be a man and just say what's on your mind! If you want to hit me or say something rude, just do it!

Anyway, back to the Ice Queen. So I manage to catch up with Doug (Ice Queen's hubby) at the bar. We talked for at least a half hour and his wife came over not once, but twice and whispered in his ear.

Then he had to leave.

Then he had an animated conversation with her at his table.

Then we left.

You know the sad thing? For just a moment, I was ready to bury the hatchet with he and the Ice Queen, just so I could hang out with him again.

He so much as said:"Listen man, I don't know what happened, and it's not important. It can't happen again. We need to hang out some more."

However, burying the hatchet is out of the question. Trixie hates her and so do all the others in our group. She's hurtful, inconsiderate and immature.

Here's how I summed it up this morning in an email exchange between Jackson and myself:

Trish and I ran into Doug and Lisa yesterday afternoon at Schnucks, and she bolted past us with a “Hi, how are youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu” and was gone.

I felt bad b/c Doug had this “Hey guys! I’m glad to see you!” look on his face, but was unable to converse with us as she rushed through the door and into the store.

Sad man. Sad.

Why paint this face of civility when clearly you hate my guts? If you want to say something to me, say what’s on your mind like: “I think you’re a conceited prick and I can’t stand you. I resent the fact that my husband still enjoys your company and fear the day he takes inventory in his life and decides he’s got too much of me in stock.”

Big Fire

Big Fire
Originally uploaded by hemispheredancer1.

So I'm driving home on Friday afternoon. I work north of downtown and take Jefferson Ave. to Hwy 44 every afternoon around 4:00. Except this day, Trixie and I were closing on our old house, and had a 4:00 appointment at the title company.

So on Friday, I left the office around 3:15 or so. When I got to the intersection of Jefferson and Olive, I noticed some black smoke.

There are a few industrial areas nearby, and I figured there may be a blaze of tires or something.

I continue southbound on Jefferson, and when I reach Choteau, I realize, OH NO, THIS ISN'T A SIMPLE TIRE FIRE. JESUS H. CHRIST, WHERE IS MY CAMERA??? I'VE NEVER SEEN A FIRE THAT BIG!

So at this point, I'm seriously 200 yards from the largest fire I've ever seen, and the distinct sound of hissing is still fresh in my ears on Monday morning.
HISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
SSSSSSSSSSS
SSSSSSSS

You get the point.

Not only is the fire hissing, it's well over 100 feet tall and exploding every second or two. Not just "pop-pop"...no, I'm talking BOOM! BOOM! Each time, belching fire higher and higher into the air, mushrooming larger each time.

The heat was unbeleiveable. I'm 200 yards from it, and through my rolled down window, it's difficult to look at the fire.

I'm on the scene just as emergency crews are arriving, so it's chaos and my car is trapped between the others clamoring for a better view or just to get the hell out of there.

I decide I have a few minutes, so I try to take some pictures. It's not meant to be. My batteries are dead.

The photo above does this situation no favors. I was much closer and the fire was much bigger.

So, I'm now stuck. I can't take pictures and I can't get out. Fire trucks and emergency vehicles scream around me and come to quick stops in the intersection.

If it's even possible, the fire begins to build and intensify.

Firemen, emergency workers and policemen are swarming like bees and on-lookers are crowding the streets like spectators watching gladiators.

And I have an appointment that I'm not going to make.

I kick back in my car and try to catalog the situation as best I can, hoping to burn (pun fully intended) an image in my mind, so I can recall the tale for years.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

SEARING HEAT AND THE HISSING....THE HISSING...

At this point, all I know is that I'm watching a BIG ASS FIRE, and I have no idea what's burning. All I know is that it's exploding...and quite frequently.

It's then that I see it.

(PLEASE REFER TO THE NEXT POST)

Tank

Tank
Originally uploaded by hemispheredancer1.

This is a helium tank. It easily weighs over 300 pounds.

I saw one launched 200 feet up into the air, out of the fire and through the air, well over 200 yards, as if it weighed nothing.

When I saw the firemen and policemen fleeing and running for cover, I knew the situation had gone from bad to worse. Seriously, when's the last time you saw first responders running AWAY FROM THE EMERGENCY? It was at this point that I decided it would be best to GET THE HELL OUT OF THERE before a tank landed on my car.

Sensing the enormity of the situation, I called KMOX, a radio station here in St. Louis. The call screener was like "So, what do you want to talk to Paul about?"

And I said: "There's an enormous fire, and I don't know many more details, but I've never seen anything like it."

It was at that point that KMOX broke into programming for my story and put me on the air!

I'm the man on the street!

So, in a phone call that took all of 45 seconds, I gave the show host, Paul Harris, the description you read above and actually informed all of us motoring home or sitting around the radio, of the inferno quickly consuming a city block.

I drove to my appointment but kept the radio dialed in. The situation grew worse and worse, and eventually a ten block radius was evacuated and a major highway shut down.

And I thought a few tires were burning...

I'm Naughty...and I Can Be Yours For a While.

I'm Naughty...and I Can Be Yours For a While.
Originally uploaded by hemispheredancer1.

And they say male prostitution is dead...

Seen today near the campus of St. Louis University.

Seen Recently

On the back of a motorcyclist's helmet, a sticker reading:

My Other Toy Has Tits

Classy.

Strange Pic of The Day

What Am I?
Originally uploaded by hemispheredancer1.

Seen in the parking lot of my place of employment.

Give me your best of what you think it might be and I shall grant you total consciousness...so you'll have that going for you...

Offensive Word of the Day

Trayslapper (noun)

A retarded person who operates a motorized wheelchair that has a tray attached to it.

Sometimes I'm A Little Slow

So Trixie and I went over to our previous house last night to clean it up a bit for the new owner. We close on that house on Friday.

I really saw no sense in cleaning the damn place for the guy, for two reasons:

1. It really wasn't dirty.
2. The guy has been a pain in the ass since the moment he wrote the contract on the house.

So, naturally, I was questioning Trixie's line of thinking, asking her why in the hell does she want to do any favors for a guy who's been nothing but a headache? FUCK HIM.

So we cleaned for about an hour and packed up the last of our belongings.

Then I got it.

They say a woman's heart is as deep as the oceans. Mine must be a fountain.

She didn't want to clean the house.

She wanted to spend just a little while longer there.

She wanted to remember the good times there.

She wanted to think about the struggles there.

She wanted to consume it just one last time.

She wanted to remember all the "firsts" there.

We took one last look out at the yard, strolled around the trees and laughed as we recalled a story here and there.

We closed the door, and then we left.

Amore Illumination

So, is it:

Lights On?

Lights Off?

Mood Lighting?

Klieg Light?

Tell the world how you like it!

I've Been Absent

So it's been a while since I filled you with the tiny strung together events that compose my life. It's been crazy. Trixie and I just moved into the new house on Friday, we've had furniture delivered, the satellite installed, the alarm activated and barely had time for lunch, dinner or sleep. We made time for alcohol infusion...otherwise, we'd be at each other's throats. And to top it all off, Baron hates the new house. He won't go to the bathroom unless you put him on grass (of which we have none as of yet, but that's a different story and a different throat to be at), and he's puked in the house a couple of times, and that's unlike him. He's not a child, so you can't just tell him "YAY! We're at your NEW house and EVERYTHING is gonna be KEEN!" No. He fucking hates it here.

As I'm typing this I'm waiting on the foreman of the crew that built the house. There's a few "detail" items that need to be cleaned up before I'm completely satisfied and will return my "survey" of his work. Just "minor" things like plumbing problems with the jacuzzi AUTHOR'S NOTE: THE PLUMBER JUST PULLED UP OUTSIDE. I spied him from my second story office window. So anyway, now the foreman just arrived and he's going to fix a few more items in the house. Not a bad experience though. I suppose any project as large as building a house is wrought with a few hiccups here and there. Not that I advocate building a house...an extraordinary pain in the arse...indeed!

So, I've been absent, and I really don't have anything funny to say except I SLIT THE SHEET THE SHEET I SLIT AND ON THE SLITTED SHEET I SIT. I've never been relaxed enough around anyone to say that.

What else is new? This isn’t new, but simply an opinion. So, I’m watching the news this morning, toasted chocolate chip bagel in my hand, and a story reveals itself upon the screen. Apparently, a man (a convicted murderer mind you) is demanding a retrial because he feels his attorneys were incompetent. Mind you, he’s not demanding a retrial because he wants to proclaim his INNOCENCE.

What ever happened to common sense? Your attorney’s were terrible? That’s just bad luck! Chances are, if you were innocent, you would have been found not guilty to begin with! The police don’t just run around nabbing people from the streets to accuse them of murder! They usually do a decent amount of investigative tasking before they arrest a person. You know what? I’m just going to STOP right here before I “offend” someone. Which, don’t get me started on that as well. Where in the Constitution does it state, oh, I think it’s below “AN UNALIENABLE RIGHT TO LIFE, LIBERTY AND THE PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS (TO INCLUDE NOT BEING OFFENDED BY ANY ACTIONS, REGARDLESS OF THEIR INJURIOUS NATURE TO OTHERS AND NOT SUBJECT TO COMMON SENSE, THAT OFFEND YOU AND ONLY YOU. THIS INCLUDES PROTECTED GROUPS SUCH AS MINORITIES, FOREIGNERS, ILLEGAL ALIENS, TERRORISTS AND THOSE THAT SEEK TO DESTROY THAT WHICH MAKES THE PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS POSSIBLE FOR THE 99 PERCENT OF AMERICANS THAT AREN’T “OFFENDED” AS EASILY AS YOU.

Goodbye for now.

EDITOR'S NOTE:
I just read the post and was unsatisfied with the snippy ending, so here's some more comedy courtesy of Steve Martin as Navin Johnson in The Jerk:

Truck Driver: St. Louis?
Navin: No. Navin Johnson.
Truck Driver: No. Do you want a ride to St. Louis?
Navin: Oh. Okay.

Dumpster Diving at a Questionably Homosexual Man's Home

So, as you know, Trixie and I are moving.

Last evening, we cleaned out the ENORMOUS shed under our deck. As a result, a lot was dragged to the curb, including:

- A lawnmower
- Three lawnchairs
- A wrought iron table (sans the glass top)
- A 96 gallon trash can which contained, among other things, a plastic golf ball, at least eight inches in circumfrence, which contained a decanter

So, this morning, as usual, it's about 5:25 a.m., and I'm walking Baron.

A truck pulls alongside me and I feel it slow, then come to a stop. I'm maybe 100 yds from my house.

Scary Truck Man: Hey! That 'cho house on tha corner?

Me: Yes.

Scary Truck Man: That lawn mower work?

Me: Yes.

Sensing a pattern here?

Scary Truck Man: Oh. I got a frien' that works on 'em. Mind if I take it?

Me: Well, I did put it in the trash.

Scary Truck Man: Did you sell your house yet? I seen that "under contract" sign. My frien's lookin fo a house, I figgerd you's got a nice one. Is it for sale?

Me: We sold it in six hours.

Scary Truck Man: You movin' to one a them condos?

Me: No. I'm moving to a new home three times the size of this one.

I then continue on my walk, and it suddenly occurs to me.

"You movin' to one a them condos?"

Does he think I'm a single gay man? After all, I dress well and walk a manicured schnauzer every morning.

So, as I contemplate this throughout my fifteen minute walk, I make my way back to my street and notice the lawnmower is gone. Also, I notice another truck parked in front of my mailbox and a woman bent over looking in my trash can. I can see she's already liberated the lawnchairs, and she holds in her hand the "Golfing-The 19th Hole" decanter. She's visibly puzzled as she tries to open it, and at that point, I'm still reeling from the shock of someone rooting through my garbage.

I do my best to embarass her by saying "It's a decanter." To which a man in the truck queries "Wat's a dee canter?"

She shushes him by saying she'll tell him later and they make a hurried exit.

Then, dressed in my finest, me and my little dog make our way back into the house to prepare for another installment of the daily grind.

FORE!

Glass Tables, FlossPics, Smelly Workers and Unfriendly Gas Pumps

So, here's the observations of yesterday:

OVERHEARD
While Trixie and I were perusing the selections at a local furniture store, particuarly in the kitchen sets area, we overheard a snippet of a conversation, which as you know can be quite fun, because snippets remove context.

"I don't like them glass tables. I don't like to see people's legs."

SEEN
Fillin' 'er up yesterday afternoon at a rural Missouri pump, I glance down to the ground.

Sitting there, between my vehicle and the pump, directly below the handle, but still on the ground...

...is a floss pic.

So let me get this straight. Your hygenic emergency was so urgent that you flossed while you pumped?

ENCOUNTERED
So, as I'm finishing up my gas pumping, floss pic detecting experience, the pump handle clicks, indicating a full tank. The pay at the pump machine asks me if I want a receipt and I push the NO button. It then jumps to the PLEASE INSERT CREDIT CARD OR PAY CASHIER WHEN FINISHED screen. I GOT NO THANK YOU! Every time I fill up I say NO to the receipt, but I always get a THANK YOU AND COME AGAIN. Not this pump! Impersonal bastard.

Later in the evening Trixie and I went to another furniture establishment to pick up a special order item. The kind worker, who looked extraordinarily out of place at the store, helped us load our purchase. After 15 minutes of wrestling with 3 packages, twining and bungeeing down the hatches, etc., we were on our way.

Trixie then says, "That guy stunk."

to which I respond:

"Really? I didn't notice that he stunk. However, he did look like he would stink."

Dude...Your Mom is SMOKIN'

Not exactly a MILF tale, but still quite funny.

So, we're sitting around a table in our usual hangout - a southside tavern. It's me, Trixie, Jackson and Bridget. We're waiting for Van to arrive, and naturally we're talking about him.

The conversation weaves to drug use, specifically which is the proper direction to pass the pipe. We all agreed that when we smoked, we always passed it to the left.

Out of nowhere, a guy at the table next to us responds incredulously "LEFT??? YOU PASS TO THE LEFT??? EVERYBODY I KNOW PASSES TO THE RIGHT!"

At this point, the man polls the inhabitants of his table, which include another "rough n' shady" looking guy, a thin girl whose appearance illustrates a life of heavy drug use and numerous group sex experiences she's been part of but still remains unaware, another equally offensive looking girl and a lady wearing a cheap straw cowboy hat who's been 60 years old for at least five or six years.

The discussion continues at the opposite table and we at our table simply enjoy the banter. The original objector then shouts to the lady in the cowboy hat "HEY MOM! WHICH WAY DO YOU PASS IT??!!"

She responds:

"I DON'T! I JUST SIT IN THE MIDDLE AND TAKE IT FROM EVERYBODY ELSE!"

And they say kids and parents don't communicate enough anymore.

BREAKING NEWS

Festus, MO (AP)
June 9, 2005

Trixie just called me from the parking lot of the hospital. She felt she needed to tell someone, so I was the first person she called.

Seen in the parking lot, affixed to a high-wheeled, muddy, beat up rustbucket of a truck, a bumper sticker reading:

ASS, GRASS OR CASH
NOBODY RIDES FOR FREE

Powerlocks, Uberwealth and Touch Up Paint

Lots to say, a short time to say it, so here goes:

My wife, Trixie is so South County. She's petrified of ANYTHING involving the City of St. Louis. So, last night, when we went to the Cardinals game (no we didn't stay through the rain delay, and it was upsetting to us both, for two reasons:

#1 We had really good seats. An ex-Cardinal gave me a pair of his seats, and they were terrific!

#2 It was the first time she and I actually did something outside of going out with friends or staying around the house. Trixie actually grabbed my arm and said that she was glad we could spend the time together. I made sure she was wearing glasses or corrective lenses, and then asked her to speak into my GOOD ear, but anyway, I digress, I was actually attempting to criticize the love of my life here...)

So, Trixie has this habit of locking the car doors the INSTANT we cross into the City. I often laugh at her, because it's ridiculous. What, is a locked door going to stop a desperate person with a gun?

I enjoy the city. I always have. It invigorates me. It's the ying to my new home's yang. My new home, with the trees, grass and babbling brook running behind it, has calmative effects.

If I was Uberwealthy, I suppose I could have both...a house in the country and a swingin' loft in the city...and I imagine I'd do two chicks at the same time as well. I imagine Uberwealth could hook that up.

Which brings me to my Uberwealth...or lack thereof.

Trixie and I closed on the new house yesterday, so the odyssey is over and I'm in an ASSLOAD of debt. YAY for us! No, actually I couldn't be happier.

During the closing, we're signing reams of paper...as you do. I made the comment that if I was Uberwealthy, I'd just have someone do this for me...which would be great, but wouldn't allow me to list my Alias of Slappy White on one of the sheets I signed, which I did, and also compete with my wife, who, where asked, signed her title (just on one page, she's not like that, if you're thinking it...she's actually quite humble), and me, having no title, just put TCB behind my name.

Ahh yes...touch this up, fix that, quit looking at me in that way...We had our walk-through yesterday prior to the closing, and MAN! this guy never saw us coming! We had amassed a notebook of small items we'd like redone, etc., and after two hours of walking through the house, pointing out knicks, scratches and paint touch ups, we were all done!

We had to be this foreman's worst nightmare, a couple of OCD yuppies...That's all for now!

Except, now I'm just counting the days until, as a result of our move, I can gleefully scream up and down my new street "THE NEW PHONE BOOK'S HERE! THE NEW PHONE BOOK'S HERE!"

Michael Jackson Found Not Guilty!

Michael
Originally uploaded by hemispheredancer1.

MICHAEL JACKSON FOUND NOT GUILTY
Los Angeles, CA
June 7, 2005

In an unprecedented legal move, Michael Jackson is acquitted of all charges stemming from a young boy's accusations of repeated molestation.

Jackson's attorney is quoted as saying "We used the ol' "Man of the Cloth" defense. All Michael had to do was state, under oath, that he was a priest at the time of the offense. He openly admitted to the violation of this young boy, but under the legal and monetary indemnification of the catholic church, he walks out today as a free man...and I still get paid."

Tell Me

When is the last time you stole something, and what was it?

The last thing I stole was a few packs of cigarettes about 10 years ago. I wasn't about to pay $1.30 a pack!

Mr. Meadows

Mr. Meadows
Originally uploaded by hemispheredancer1.

My college roommate recently sent me this photo.

It's a quickly snapped shot taken recently in an unnamed midwestern university town.

He's at Andy's Ice Cream.

It's Mr. Meadows, the odiferous olfactory treat of a human being.

When we attended college in the early 90's, we'd see him on campus. I think he lived in our dorm. We'd also see his bike chained up outside.

We think he's some kind of savant, because apparently he's bright, yet socially retarded...bordering on Turret's.

My college roommate, whom we shall call Graham, has quite a few stories about Mr. Meadows, and each one invariably contains the passing of gas. (Remember, socially retarded) Graham's girlfriend (now wife) had a class with Mr. Meadows, and apparently he would routinely fart, LOUDLY, in the middle of lectures, tests, etc.

4 A.M. Bratwurst

Received this morning from Meredith, fiance of my best friend Van:

So at 4:30 this morning Van starts wrestling with his c-pap mask and wakes me up. I asked him what was wrong and he is either talking gibberish or I'm so tired everything I hear sounds like gibberish because after all it is 4:30.

So then he gets up, puts his c-pap mask in MY underwear drawer and proceeds to sit on my side of the bed and rustle around in his shirt drawer. All the while I am asking him "what are you doing?" to which he is responding with "we need to widen the door..." and other nonsense.

He finds a shirt and takes off the shirt he has on and puts a new shirt on. I say to him "Van, you already have a shirt on, what are you doing?" and he says "this shirt is dirty." So he puts on the new shirt and heads downstairs.

At this point he's spiked my interest and I'm fully awaken. I lay and listen to see what he's going to do next. I figured he would lie down on the couch and fall asleep. Instead, I hear the microwave start going. I go down there because I HAVE TO see what he's cooking. There he is standing there with a bratwurst on a plate. He looks at me and says "what? I'm hungry".

I went back upstairs and when I got up this morning he was asleep on the couch with his headphones next to him and the TV on, and on the coffee table is a plate with the remains of a hot dog bun. He also had a glass of iced tea sitting there. I wake him up and ask him if he remembers waking up and cooking a brat last night to which he replies "yeah." then I left for work.