Archive for July, 2007

Today a woman caught me scratching my nuts. Well, Jimmy cracked corn, and I don’t care. Hey, it’s fu-king hot and they needed to breathe.

Man, I need to lose some weight. I’m so fat that last week I was wearing red swim trunks at the pool and a bunch of kids starting yelling, “Hey, Kool-Aid.”

Okay, that’s a bit of a stretch, but I’m beginning a weight loss program on August 1st. My goal is to lose 20 pounds by the Chiefs home-opener on September 23rd. I want to look good in my #27 LJ jersey. Weekly weigh-ins will be on Friday mornings, and I’ll post the results next to the beer icon on the site. Like you give a sh-t.

Sometimes these are just for me.

Of course, this means I’ll need to watch my carb intake, including beer. There’s no need to fear, Underdog is here. And by Underdog, I mean Stoli vodka. Mixed with club soda and a twist, this drink can be quite refreshing on a hot summer day.

“Look at Benny calling his own vodka.” – Red; Circa 1990

Do you think Dog Days of Summer mean something completely different to Michael Vick?

I like how the NAACP has brought itself into the Vick story. I don’t know if he’s guilty or not, but I can assure you of one thing – Vick won’t be on my fantasy football team this year.

In case you haven’t seen it, here’s Barry Bond’s rookie card. – Thanks, Mike K.

Dedicate one to the ladies.


I’d like to begin by welcoming all of the new readers and subscribers to The Summer of Benny with a special shout-out to Morgan in KC.

This weekend was tame by SOB standards as my mom came into town with my niece and nephew. My niece has been excited about her piano competition for months, so I was caught off guard when the first thing she said to me was, “Daddy wants you to take a picture of me and Dani-girl.” WTF?

After tip-toeing around the issue for a few minutes, I explained that Dani-girl is daddy’s special internet friend and he thinks she is pretty.

The competition was held at a hotel and the participants performed only in front of judges. The hallways were filled with friends and family whose ears were glued to the doors of the respective meeting rooms where their loved ones played. It was American Idol meets Little Miss Sunshine with an emphasis on the latter.

I was intrigued by the number of kids participating in the Accordion category. I’m not against the accordion, in fact, I’ve been known to dance a polka or two during Oktoberfest. However, if your kid plays the accordion, you might as well prepare them for years of getting their ass kicked.

Why Dads Shouldn’t Buy Baby Clothes (Warning: Contains profanity) – Thanks, Ken B.

Super Troopers – A Liter of Cola (Warning: Contains profanity)

Drive-By Fart – Thanks, Leo K.

Slideshow: Magic Goggles (Warning: Contains nudity) – Thanks, Lil’ Bro.

She’s a very kinky girl. The kind you don’t take home to mother.


With my flip-flops gone, I could feel mud squishing between my toes as the water flowed by. I’ll admit to being a little concerned at this point. This was the first time I had ever gotten lost at a concert, walked through woods in total darkness, and fallen into a fast-moving creek.

You always remember your first time.

I was unable to pull myself out because I couldn’t reach the land above. Picture a drunk guy standing in four feet of rushing water in the dark, and you’ll see me. I walked upstream and found a tree branch. And by tree branch, I mean twig.

I pulled myself up the bank dragging the front of my body through mud in the process. Once out, I traced my footsteps back to where I had entered the rainforest. The parking lot was full of cars in line for the exits.

I approached the first car looking like the creature from The Black Lagoon. I asked for a ride and they told me to go to hell.

The occupants of the second car didn’t notice the mud, and agreed to drive me to my hotel. A girl was driving a male passenger in the front and another girl in the back. I got into the car and introduced myself. The chick in the back was kind of hot. I got her phone number, but never called. More on that later.

I asked to borrow a cell phone so I could call my buddy Matt back in St. Louis. Keep in mind that Matt has told me numerous times not to call between 10:00 PM and 9:00 AM unless it was an emergency. Over the years I have called him late at night with drunk stories and woken his family. Shocker.

This night’s call came a little after midnight, and he wasn’t happy. I briefed him on the situation, and asked for Red’s phone number. I instructed the driver to remember the area code, the guy riding shotgun the prefix, and me and the hottie were responsible for the rest.

I dialed Red who called me an idiot before I could explain what had happened. We agreed to meet at Champs, a bar located next to our hotel.

I arrived there first, and was the only person in the place. They were in the process of closing, but the bartender must have felt sorry for me because he let me sit at the bar and wait. I ordered a Bud Light and paid with a soggy $5 bill.

They finally arrived and we laughed about the whole thing with the bartender over a beer, and then walked back to the hotel. Red and I were sharing a room, and if you ever talk with anyone who has shared a hotel room with me, it’s not something they usually brag about.

I woke the next morning to the smell of puke and pee; my puke and pee. I noticed my Tommy Hilfiger cargo shorts hanging on the desk chair. We had been through a lot over the years, but they weren’t going to make it.

Red was fast asleep in his bed which I found to be the perfect time to ask for his car keys. I needed to get a new pair of flip-flops. I had brought another pair of shorts on the trip, but not shoes.

He tossed me the keys, and I drove around Indy looking for any store that sold footwear. I saw Kohl’s and went inside where I found suitable replacements. I put them on, and carried the box to the checkout lane.

The cashier asked if I wanted to put my old pair in the box and I replied, “That won’t be necessary.”

She leaned over the counter, looked at my new purchase, and asked, “What did you do with the old ones?”

“They’re in a creek at Verizon Amphitheatre,” I replied.

“You can’t walk in here without shoes.”

“Apparently you can.”

I told her to keep the box, and headed back to the hotel. When I walked in the room, Red was puking in the bathroom. I asked the little fellar if he was feeling bad. He explained that smelling my puke all morning had made him sick.

The room was a wreck. Mud was everywhere and my bed was absolutely destroyed. Red flipped $20 on the nightstand for the maid, and we headed to the car. He started mumbling something about how leaving his credit card for incidentals was going to cost him $400 to clean-up my mess, but stopped in mid-sentence. He told me I was driving, and climbed into the backseat where he slept the entire way home.

I thought about calling the girl from the night before as she had mentioned something about coming to St. Louis in a few weeks. I decided against it because I’m sure her friend was furious once she saw her backseat in the light of day.

It’s only half past twelve, but I don’t care.


Back in July 2004, my buddy Red and I embarked on a road trip to Indianapolis. A high school friend of his had gotten us 10th row & backstage passes to a Jimmy Buffett Concert. I never considered myself a Parrot Head, but there aren’t too many things that scream summer like a Buffett show.

After a four-hour drive, we reached our hotel where his friend was anxiously waiting as we were running a bit late. I quickly checked into our room using travel points as payment, and asked Red to lay down his credit card for incidentals.

When we arrived at the amphitheatre, we were pointed to the VIP parking area, and escorted backstage.

I didn’t see Buffett or the Coral Reefer Band backstage, but I did see complimentary Coronas and margaritas pouring like Niagara Falls. I quickly took advantage of the situation, and told Red he better “drink up” because we only had a couple of hours before the show started.

I must have been over served backstage because the tequila hit me like a freight train once we reached our seats. I switched to beer for the show as if that was going to make a difference.

The concert itself was a great time, but admittedly a little hazy.

After the final encore, we followed the crowd to the exits, but I somehow got separated from my group. Once I realized I was surrounded by thousands of people and had no idea where I was or where we had parked, I called Red.

He suggested that I meet them back at the exit gate, but I finally recognized our parking lot. It appeared to be about a half-mile walk through a wooded area. He said they would wait for me at the car, and I began my journey into the Indianapolis night.

The walk was going fine, albeit a little dark and cumbersome from pushing tree branches out of my face. All of a sudden, the bottom dropped out and I fell about five feet into a fast-moving creek. When I got my head above water, I discovered that my sunglasses, cell phone, and flip-flops were missing. I also had no idea how I was going to get out of there.

What would Jimmy Buffett do?

To be continued…

I’m going to be busy this week, so my time to post will be limited. However, I’ve received a request to write about the Jimmy Buffett Incident of 2004. Coming soon… 

Dani-girl uploaded new pictures including some from Abby’s Birthday last Friday night.

Dani-girl is being auctioned this Wednesday night, July 25th at Pujols 5. The festivities begin at 6:00. I set her Over/Under at $250 which seemed to offend her.

Chris Farley Reincarnated – Thanks, TJ.

Some of Jay Leno’s favorite interviews – Thanks, Mike S.

Horrible Highway Accident – Thanks, Ken B. This made me cry.

Goin’ my way. Movin’ fast.


ding dong

Several SOB readers celebrated birthdays last week, so “Happy Belated Birthday” to Tom, John M, Bob F, and Abby.

Have you ever emptied the trash can in your bathroom and realized it’s been over a month since it was last emptied because tampon wrappers came flying out, and it’s been that long since you had a female guest?

Me neither.

If you stood in line Friday night to buy the new Harry Potter book, please don’t visit this website again.

How cool is the British Open? You crawl out of bed at 8 o’clock on Sunday morning, and the televised coverage has already started. In honor of the final round, I drank a cup of tea and didn’t brush my teeth.

Saturday morning started off great. The only person at the pool was a hot chick wearing a thong. The property manager spotted it, and asked the young lady to cover herself. WTF?

Afterwards, I approached the bathing beauty and told her that it wasn’t me that complained. She said that she was embarrassed, and had an English accent. Sweet.

Here’s my philosophy on women wearing thongs – If they’re comfortable wearing them, I’m comfortable looking at them.

Nobody likes you when you’re 23.


Two of the greatest inventions in our lifetimes have to be the cooler on wheels and Caller ID. Forget space age materials like titanium. I can now pull a case of beer to the pool like a Radio Flyer, and screen calls while I drink them. Sweet. 

Kung Fu Baby

50 Sports Bloopers

Greg Warren – Flute Man

Kid steals food from Taco Bell drive-thru.

It’s poetry in motion.


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