I don’t even know where to begin to recap the weekend. I’ll try to accomplish the task by dividing it into three separate stories.

Farewell to the King

King is a recent addition to The SOB and is moving to Cali this week. At least that what he keeps telling everyone even though he’s had going away parties the past three weekends. The third party was on Saturday which started with golf in the morning, the pool in the afternoon, and getting kicked out of Voodoo at 1 AM.

He was kicked out after patrons began complaining about his patented pick-up move – The Armadillo. I had never seen The Armadillo in action until Saturday night. He points his head to the ground, hunches over, and proceeds to waddle across the dance floor until he rubs his head into the back of a hot chick. This somehow prompts a conversation which sometimes leads to dancing, and beyond.

Apparently, he Armadillo’d the wrong girl because he was finally asked to leave. He was escorted out of the premises and they called a cab for him and JT. For some reason King thought it would be a good idea to tip the bouncer for kicking him out. The bouncer refused the money and said that it was his pleasure. I’m sure there was sarcasm in his response.

The cab ride home was stopped short because King felt the fare was getting too high – a whopping $14.90. However, there was a $2.00 surcharge added and an altercation ensued. King told the cab driver to be careful because he was, “Going to bring the heat.”

Cooler heads prevailed until King realized he didn’t have any cash and the cab company didn’t take plastic. He agreed to put $16.90 worth of gas in the cab and they went their separate ways.

He and JT still had a mile walk to get home which took an hour because they kept stopping in the yards of complete strangers to wrestle.

Gone in 60 Seconds

I was in the city and stopped by a gas station in the morning to fill up the Saab. I usually don’t go to this particular establishment because it’s owned by foreigners. But I was low on fuel and the station was on my way to Target. I slid my card into the pump, but received an error message because the reader was broken.

I went inside and the clerk started talking some Pakistani gibberish. I wasn’t in the mood to spend half of my morning watching him try to figure out the credit card processor, so I decided to pay cash and handed him a five-dollar bill.

He continued to speak gibberish and I asked how he could live in this country and not speak a lick of English. I grabbed the five-spot back and told him I would take my business elsewhere.

I got back into the Saab and proceed to drive away. Before I got onto the main drag, I looked in my right side view mirror and saw the gas nozzle dangling from my gas tank. Oops. I got out, removed the nozzle, and placed it next to the pump.

He came outside yelling more gibberish about breaking the pump. That I understood. I thought about breaking the pump over his head, but apologized for the accident. He probably didn’t understand a word I said.

Taxi Driver

Crowe Dog had another buddy in town and somehow managed to top the mother/daughter story from last weekend. They found themselves on the East Side of town in the early morning hours of Sunday. For those not familiar with St. Louis, the East Side is where the strip clubs are located.

They called a cab from one of these establishments around 3 AM. Their taxi driver was a woman who immediately started smoking weed as they got on the road. This is exactly what you want to see from your cab driver.

Anyway, she asked if they wanted to buy any. They refused, and then she propositioned them for oral sex. Again, they refused, but his buddy inquired about the possibility of intercourse. She said it would cost $125 and they agreed to get it on once they got home.

Once there, they went into the guest room and Crowe Dog was forced to listen to the sounds of sex. He decided to open the door for a sneak peek, and found the tramp on all fours with his buddy hitting it from behind. She looked up, saw him and said…wait for it…”It’s going to cost extra if you want to watch.”

Classic.

Update: Picture of taxi driver/whore has been removed.

Some girl that knows the meaning of hey hit the highway.

Benny

191…I gained three pounds last week. This did not come as a surprise. Bye-bye beer. Next week’s Over/Under is 187.

The problem I’m having with giving up beer is that vodka & sodas are hard to make at the pool. I have to worry about ice, vodka, soda, limes and something to stir the drink. With beer, I just grab a can out of the cooler, and go.

Another issue is how differently vodka and beer affects me. Drinking beer is somewhat of a controlled activity. Vodka sneaks up on me like creeper weed.

You remember creeper weed, don’t you? You would take a few puffs, and an hour later wonder how you missed your 3:00 accounting class.

Good times.

A few replies to comments made on yesterday’s post.

Dave - If anyone knows about the writing on bathroom stalls, it would be you.

Tory – The Chiefs will win the AFC West this year.

Sherri – Welcome to my world. I’m always laughing at things that I shouldn’t.

George G. sent a childhood picture of Crowe Dog (Warning: Contains profanity) 

This morning at the grocery store I heard Rod Stewart’s version of Have You Ever Seen The Rain. I had a sudden urge to kick him in the balls; if he has any. Thanks for ruining a classic song, douche bag.

Someone told me long ago there’s a calm before the storm. I know; it’s been comin’ for some time.

Benny

I don’t think I could have a job working with the general public because I’ve become somewhat opinionated as the years have passed.

Take a leasing agent as an example. There seems to be something called The Fair Housing Act that I doubt I would be able to follow. In fact, my business card would read Fair Housing My Ass which I imagine most property management companies wouldn’t allow.

Here is how I would handle three scenarios of people looking for an apartment.

Scenario 1:
Prospect: Hi, my name is Aseem Patel and I am looking for an apartment.
Me: I’m sorry, but we do not have any apartments available.

Scenario 2:
Prospect: Hi, my name is Lequisha Jones and I am looking for an apartment.
Me: I’m sorry, but we do not have any apartments available.

Scenario 3:
Prospect: Hi, my name is Thong Girl and I am looking for an apartment.
Me: Can you please pick up that pen I on the floor?
Prospect: No problem. Here it is.
Me: When do you want to move in?

It’s not that I hate certain groups of people. But if I had control of who my neighbors were, I’d choose the ones with sweet asses.

I ain’t workin’ here no more.

Benny

I’ll be back on Thursday. Chickie Poo came into town on Monday night, and we’ve been hanging out with friends. And by hanging out, I mean drinking.

My weigh-in on Friday is not going to be pretty.

Benny

Crowe Dog called me Saturday morning with the mother of all hook-up stories. He spent the previous night at Voodoo, but was not allowed inside the casino because he was too intoxicated. Shocker.

He and his buddy Rupert were then invited up to the hotel room of a girl that fifteen minutes earlier had been rejected by Tom.

Once in the room, the chick asked Crowe Dog to go downtown. Wait, it gets better. Rupert watched for a while, but decided to make a quick exit after he had seen enough. Our hero kept to the task and estimates they were going at it for about an hour.

Suddenly, the door opens and the chick’s mother walks in. She screamed, “Do you even know this guy you little whore?”

She told Crowe Dog to get dressed, and made him write his name, address and phone number on a piece of paper before leaving. Sufficed to say he wrote something like “Ron Mexico” and got the hell out of there.

Good times.

I saw a sign promoting Responsible Gaming Week. It reminded me of the time I called 1-888-BETSOFF and the person answering the phone asked if I had a gambling problem. I explained that I did because I had just lost the third leg of a Pick 3 when the 4-5 chalk hung in the stretch and lost by a nose. They ended the call.

I didn’t get a chance to tell them that speed had been holding all day at Churchill and I was convinced I had witnessed a crime.

$10 WP on Hoof Hearted – Thanks, Mike S.

Just listen to the music of the traffic in the city. Linger on the sidewalk where the neon signs are pretty. How can you lose?

“The Broadway area?”

“No, that’s midtown.”

Benny

188 (-7)

Breaking News – I got overserved last night. It wasn’t my fault. Gina Party & Sheila E. had Bob, Laurie and I full of vodka by the end of the night. My bed is taking a beating (old, not new).

I admire people who ride mass transit every day and still aren’t racist.

I’m dizzy, hungry, and have to get to work.

It was 1980 somethin’ in the world that I grew up in.

Benny

Here’s a new rule that goes into effect immediately – No one is to call me “Big Guy” unless they know me, and I’ve given them permission to do so.

I stopped by a convenience store this morning to buy a Powerball ticket. And by Powerball, I mean mutual fund. As I exchanged my dollar bill for the ticket, the dude behind the counter said, “Anything else, Big Guy?”

WTF? I was just getting used to younger people calling me, “Sir”.

I’ve also implemented a new rule for myself. The next time I see Thong Girl at the pool laying on her stomach, I’m going to straddle her beach chair, whip out Little Benny, and windmill it.

Public Peeing (Warning: Contains profanity and nudity)

Rappers Against Child Support

To the honies gettin money playin ni-gaz like dummies (I love it when you call me Big Pop-pa).

Benny