Shower time is big fun to me.

I don’t know why I love the shower so much, but I really do. I make myself laugh all the time like the fool that I am.

I like to sing Sinatra at the very top volume I can muster and pretend I’m in a lounge somewhere while squatting slightly and swinging my balls around.

You ladies are unfortunately not equipped for this, but let me tell you, it’s quality fun swinging your parts to and fro and singing Sinatra at top volume.

The summer wind,
(swing, swing)
Came blowin in
(swing)
From across the sea…
(swing, swing, swingeroo)

I also spend this time thinking of practical jokes to play on my asshat roommates. Almost all of them have returned to the roost from their various places of Christmas vacation now, so it’s on.

Frog still hasn’t met the Colonel. He says he doesn’t want to, so whenever he sees the Colonel coming he hides around the corner. They have been roommates now for over a month and Frog has only seen the back of his head and maybe one of his arms. The Colonel spends most of his time up in his room plotting the demise of the universe. Luckily for the universe, his plans involve:

1. Eating chips
2. Watching sports
3. Drinking beer

So, the universe is fairly safe, I’d say.

I think I might start a campaign of secretly paying random people to introduce themselves to Frog as the Colonel from upstairs and see how many it takes to drive him nuts.

Frog stomped out of the Buckhead Saloon in his cowboy boots, making sort of a Christmas tree shape with his long duster and his long hair fanning out behind him. He even had his cowboy hat for an ornament on top.

The saloon employees threw trashcans through the air, and beer bottles smashed around us. It was well past last call.

Frog stomped forward through ones and twos of the night’s late revellers as we made our way to the car.

We drove to the late club, picking up Ward on the way. “We’ll find some sluts here,” Frog assured us. He was drifting slightly out of his lane.

“You’re drifting.” I said.

“Drunks drift on accident. I drift because it’s my business.”

“Uh, what?”

We pulled up and got out of the car. Mark Patterson and some girl were getting out of their car.

“Okay,” Frog addressed us, “Stick close to me.”

We walked in a pack up to the door, and weaved through the gates and whatnot that they use to control the crowds of people who are there when it’s not five in the morning. The door guy waited for us at the end like a prize in a maze.

“Hey, Frog, how many you got, man?”

“Plus Four” Frog said, brushing past him. The rest of us followed him like ducklings.

“Okay. Come on through. Hey when you guys playing again?”

“Don’t know” Frog shouted, opening the door and sweeping in with his long coat. We repeated this process at the entrance to the fancy-shmancy VIP area, where gangsters and their girlfriends sit around sipping drinks and not smiling at one another. A man in a white dress smiled at me and tried to make eye contact. I examined the art. The gangsters milled around with their stripper girlfriends.

“This sucks,” Ward offered. “Let’s go dance.”

We filed back out into the cavernous main area of the club, past an asian gang and their girlfriends around a big round table. They all looked pretty young, so I guess they didn’t have the pull to be VIPs yet. It was late, so the dancefloor was mostly empty. I was sobering up quickly.

A bleached blonde appeared next to me with a tray of test tubes.

“Want a shot?” she screamed over the music, trying to be cute at the same time.

“No”

“Buy one for her!” she pointed to the beer tub girl, who was watching us from under Frog’s hat.

“I don’t like her” I said.

“Well buy one for me! You like me don’t you?”

“Not really”

She was a true professional. She didn’t give the slightest fuck that I didn’t like her. She didn’t bother even being hurt that I said I didn’t like her. She just wanted my money. She just shrugged and went on to the next guy.

Mark and his girl filed straight out onto the dancefloor with Frog close behind. Matt and the girl danced. Frog stood there with his hands jammed in his long coat. They motioned at him to join them in dancing.

Instead, he bent his knees slightly and flapped his coat along to the music, hands still inside his pockets.

As I was laughing at the coat flapping, the most bizarre moment of the evening snuck up on me. I felt something slap me on the leg. It was the man in the white dress.

“What are you gonna do?” he asked, “Sue me? I did two years of pre-law in Miami! Let’s go!”

Here’s the question, folks. How do you get a man in a white dress to leave you alone?

I don’t know either, so I just turned around and started hitting on the beer tub girl, and he went away.

I like animals a lot, even though I realize that some of them would probably bite me if given half a chance, if not just eat me. That’s pretty fucking rude.

In the upper Mississippi river there are some Asian fish causing a ruckus. Seems these little fuckers are breeding out of control and eating food which was previously eaten by less cheeky fish.

One of their more anoying qualities is that they can grow to be over 120lbs. This is not annoying in itself, but coupled with their penchant for swimming fuck-off fast and jumping out of the water becomes a problem for humans in boats. Plenty of people have been beaned with fish.

Think of it. Nice day on the river with your lady friend. You pop open some high-grade boxed wine and a sack of pimento and cheese sandwiches. You and she are going to have yourselves day on the river and maybe get up to some smoochy later when out of the blue she gets clanged in the dome with a 120lb fish. Your whole day. Ruined!

Damn you asian carp!

I walked over to the Bait Shack with Frog and a bass player we had found at another bar. The guy and Frog knew each other.

We went down into the bowels of the Bait Shack to see Walter beat on his drums and drink our faces numb. When we got there Walter pointed at me and pointed at his kit. I made the universal sign of drinking at him. Too drunk to play.

Walter and the boys finished up. He climbed out from behind his drum fort and came out front with some CDs in his hand.

“These are for that girl over there in the red leather,” he said, “But I don’t know if she will like them or not”

“You took her out last night, yeah?”

“Yeah. I don’t know. I like her.”

“She like you?”

“I don’t know.”

“WHORE” I yelled. She didn’t hear me all the way across the bar.

She came over a minute later, and Walter gave her her CD’s. She said it was sweet. I could tell she was not going to be putting forth the amount of respect I like to see a woman pay my friends. We discussed where we were all going next. She wanted to go play some pool, and she had the balls to ask me if I wanted to walk over there with her.

“Why don’t I drive Walter’s truck and he can walk with you, after I squeeze on him a bit” I said, giving him a hug.

She ignored my comment. We all ended up riding over in Frog’s truck, and drinking ourselves even sillier. She continued to not meet my expectations for someone who should be seeing a pal of mine. She was making eyes and flirting with some other dick at the bar. I told Walter so as delicately as I could.

“This bitch is playing you out, man” I told him.

We got kicked out shortly after, and on the way home I convinced him to delete her number from his cellphone, but not before he called her and gave the phone to me. I shouted and ranted onto her voicemail, although I don’t remember what I said.

“What was that about?” he asked.

“Fuck if I know. What should I have said?”

“I don’t know. Something like: ‘You’re a pig-bitch’”

I probably should not involve myself in other people’s love lives, but I hate to see a fine fella like Walter chasing a pig-bitch like that.

I get sort of bored at work.

They have changed our swipecard key things at work now. They used to be little black thingies that you would hold up to a door, but now they are more like credit cards. I keep mine in my wallet.

If I hold my wallet up to the door, the little pad goes “Beep!” and the door unlocks. I decided to try a few methods of opening the door with the card inside things, just to see what sort of foolishness it would let me get away with.

I stuck it in my shoe, and I was able to sort of kick my foot up and get it to work. I tried throwing it at the door inside my wallet, but the little pad became offended and ignored me. It stared at me with its little defiant red light. Needless to say, I had to show that little pad who was boss around these parts.

I decided to get really acrobatic. I stuck the card inside my wallet and down my pants and started jumping up and down in front of the door. I could get it to work maybe 2 or 3 times out of 5.

I decided I’d better quit, though, lest someone come in early and wonder just why I was trying to fuck the front door in midair, but I showed that little pad thingy what’s up.

I hope my precious wedding tackle has suffered no ill effects due to radiation or any strange shit like that.