I just dreamed that I woke up one day in a strange apartment, and it was because I was married to a girl that I didn’t really know, and I had totally been blacked out for the last few months of my life.

Good god what a horrible dream.

Okay ladies, get ready.

This gentleman here is my boy Chris:

Now, Chris has been asking me lately to help him talk to a girl who works at the Texaco near his work because he thinks she’s a good looking girl and he wants to take her out. Problem is, Chris is pretty shy. Another problem is, that girl works at a gas station and has two kids by two different men.

I don’t think she is good enough material, personally.

Since I know what a fine looking bunch my readers are, I am going to do my boy Chris a favor and tell you a little bit about him in case any of you fine ladies would like to meet a smart, loyal man like him.

He has a good, steady job farting around with computers in some manner or other, and is not likely to be an irresponsible drunken musician like me at any stage in his life. He would be an excellent provider, girls, so get on with the Chris program while you can.

I have given him my advice on how to meet women, which is basically to talk to women. I told him to take his ass to the mall and talk to every girl there until he gets so used to rejection that he can handle it with class. I believe this would give him the confidance he needs to meet a nice young lady.

I would employ this plan myself, but I am lucky enough to be James Clark Hodgson Jr, so I have plenty of confidance.

Anyway, check Chris out and drop him a line if you live in the Atlanta area and are in need of a good man.

Alternatively, any advice you fine ladies and gents have for him on how to meet and chat up girls would be appreciated very much. I’m trying to impart to him that women are people just like men are, and you can just go right up and talk to them if you want to, but I’m not getting through.

Alternatively, if you do go out with Chris and it doesn’t work out, I’ll have sex with you behind his back.

In the words of Tenacious D, that’s fuckin teamwork!

Okay people, slight change of plans.

Our buddy Patrick Henley wrote back:

Actually, I am a repo man and for the bank and a bouncer. That was the first
time I have ever read anything you wrote. I was looking up some information on
Alabama boating and motorcycle license requirements and I happen to come across
you little article. As to tomorrow being Patrick Henley Day let's change that
to Friday. It works better with my schedule. Have a good one.

Patrick Henley

You heard the man, Friday it is.

I played The Scientist and told the crowd I was taking a short break. I hit the mute button on my badass little mixer and put my guitar down and went inside. I walked up to the bar and lit a cigarette.

The bartender looked at me.

“Um, this is a nonsmoking bar…” he said.

I grabbed the cigarette and squeezed it out with my hand. “OOps!”. I ran outside and smoked it.

I came back in, apologized for smoking in their bar, downed a shot of Jager about the size of a good cup of coffee, and went back to my spot.

I picked up the guitar again and ripped through a few crowd pleasers. I was finishing up Prince’s Kiss when five or six hot girls walked in and sat down right in front. I smell bachelorette party!

Sure enough, the waiter appeared with their drinks, and they all had cock and balls straws in them. He had one of those sipper things shaped like a dong for the bride. It had a straw coming out the hole. They all giggled about it.

“Holy god.” I said over the mic. “Look at that thing.” The bride to be blushed and hid it under the table.

“Oh my, now she’s got it in her lap, good lord!” I said. They roared with laughter. Every one of them was just as fine as could be.

“Well congratulations,” I said to the bride, “it’s not for me, but that groom of yours is a lucky guy.” She smiled.

And then, I went too far.

“Hell I’d marry your whole table, you all look so good.” They looked at one another.

“Okay then! How about some John Mayer?”

Someday I’ll learn to shut up.

So, I’m about to go to my sunday gig, and I’m farting around with the computer and watching that evil bitch, the TV. There’s a dude on the screen wearing a rapelling harness and standing on top of a 30 foot cliff looking down at the camera. He’s yacking at the camera, but you can’t hear what he’s saying because the announcer is yacking louder about what he’s up to.

Apparently this was his audition tape for the show Survivor.

So, he fools with his rope a bit, and then leaps off the cliff spread-eagle style. He sails rather gracefully through the air, and then smacks his dumb ass into the ground at the foot of the cliff with a lack of grace that could be truthfully described as “utter”. I mean, this guy hit the ground just about as hard as one can hit it and live to tell the tale. We’re talking about the sort of impact that plucks that human string inside all of us that makes us give a wincing “Ooh!”.

The announcer said he broke a rib and busted all his teeth out, among other injuries.

Then he’s on camera some months later as he’s healing up, trying to smile with his jaw wired shut. He delivers the following pearl of wisdom:

“Well,” he surmises, “about all I can say about it is I guess the rope was too long.”

Now, that’s the kind of attitude I can appreciate. This guy’s probably been laughed at by everyone he’s told about it, and yet he maintains a sheepish admission about improper rope length. Worse yet, there’s video to prove what a fuckbrain he was! Despite all that, he has the balls to grin and state the very painfully obvious. What a fuckin trooper, that guy!

Well, Survivor Hopeful Swan Dive Guy, I salute you. Glad you didn’t die, and I hope you heal up soon.