I just spent roughly 45 minutes in the shower. What does that make me?

Well, wet, for starters, and clean perhaps as well, but much more than that this time. Why? Because in that short span of time I have begun the greatest book of pickup lines ever written. When people who read this book try out some of my methods on the ladies they are going to swoon like nobody’s business.

I, of course, will become rich, and use the money to start a secret society of alpaca farmers who will one day overthrow the cable company’s oppressive regime, but that’s another fucking shower entirely. Settle down!

Let me give you a taste of what I’m concocting. Here’s pickup line number one.

Imagine it.

You are sidling up to some fine, fine woman in a bar. She’s looking at you, you’re looking at you in the mirror behind the bar, and you’re stepping on her foot. She also has a boyfriend, but it doesn’t fucking matter because the pickup line is that good. You adjust the cuffs of your electric blue shirt, look her right in the eye and say…

Hey, stupid.

CAN YOU FUCKING BELIEVE IT? IN the SHOWER i thought of that. Great projectile-shitting manatees, people that’s a GEM.

I tried it out on a few random internet girls, but they didn’t have anything funny to reply about it, so I guess they were actually 60 year old men posing as girls. I know that’s what you really are, internet girls!

Not that, you know, I don’t want to meet you at the Steak and Shake later just because you’re a 60 year old man.

I couldn’t tell if I was hungry or sick or what. My stomach felt wierd.

I was standing in Nut’s bar, watching him set it up.

“Nut, what’s wrong with me?” I said.

“Well, you’re short, you’re overweight, and you don’t sing that good.” He said.

I said, “Fuck man, I’m six feet tall.”

There are no problems I can not solve, only problems I can not afford.

I was at a grocery store recently, standing in line with a big box of detergent and looking over the covers of the magazines there. They all had photos of women on them, and I was admiring the ladies.

An older gentleman in line behind me said, “Looking at those girls makes you want to go home and beat the wife, huh?”

I told him, “I’ve just come from it, thank you.”

He laughed uneasily.

I broke these. Shit!

My friend Doug says that I enjoy damaging other people’s property. This is not the case. However, I will say that my inquisitive nature leads me to touch and play with things that other normal people would leave alone. These things often belong to other people.

I am especially addicted to sunglasses.

If you leave your sunglasses lying around near me, I will put them on. It’s very simple. I must. It’s a compulsion. I probably could stop myself but I don’t want to because I love sunglasses.

This is the face of a man who is serious about dancing.

Anyway, I got super drunk with my friends the other night playing trivia in the Highlands. I will demonstrate the hilarity and foolishness of the night with this picture ( at right) of a very drunken and furiously dancing Pete. When Pete wasn’t dancing and making that face, he was checking ID’s at the door behind him, even though he is in no way affiliated with the establishment. Now that’s community service!

Pete also scoffed at my ridiculous notion that the Forbidden City was inside another city called Beijing while we were at trivia, but some people just don’t care for geography I guess.

Anyway I was good and soused, as you can tell from the picture with friend of friend Alisha. You can also see that I am wearing the sunglasses that I am about to cause damage to.

Shave me I’m a dumbass. (To the tune of ‘Rock me Amadaus’)

I don’t know her well enough to put my face on her head like that, I’m just that much of a buffoon at this point in time.

Minutes after that photo was taken, I was horsing around with Mellie and knocked her glasses out of her hand. They made a sort of tinkling sound, and dismay gripped everyone present. I had broken Mellie’s glasses!

Incontrovertible proof of my consummate fuckheadedness was once again at hand and on display.

Criminy!

Well, I took those glasses to Lenscrafters the next day to get them fixed, where I was assisted by the lovely and knowledgeable Tayisha. Tayisha had several tattoos of her name on her arms, as though she might forget it one day while writing a check. She also had a rather irritating habit of standing very, very close, even bumping into me once.

Also, as shown in the photo, she was working on quite a nice beard. Aw yeah.

I sit on a throne of LIES.

She told me that Rayban did not sell replacement lenses, and that I would have to have Lenscrafters manufacture me some new plastic lenses there at the store. Well, that sounded crappy, but I said ok. Raybans sunglasses all have glass lenses, but I figured I would just buy Mellie a new pair if the plastic ones looked bad and we could swap lenses into her frames. They were a gift, her frames.

The replacements cost me $80, and I left the frames there to be worked on.

When I got home I called Mellie, who had been on the phone with RayBan ordering some replacement lenses, which cost $20 for the pair, which led me to sink to my knees in my apartment and bellow at the heavens. Rayban even tells their customers to go to Lenscrafters once the replacements arrive to have them put into the frames.

So, I went and got my $80 back.