I recently told Dani-girl that she and Abby are The SOB’s version of Ginger and Mary Ann. She had never heard of Gilligan’s Island, so I told her to Google it.

I’m getting sick and tired of explaining things to the younger generation like how their television gets a few channels even though the cable is not plugged in.

Thanks Tom for sending this important story.

St. Louis County Family Court
St. Louis, Missouri 

Courtroom Drama

A seven-year old boy was at the center of a St Louis County court room drama yesterday when he challenged a court ruling over who should have custody of him. The boy has a history of being beaten by his parents and the judge initially awarded custody to his aunt, in keeping with child custody law and regulation requiring that family unity be maintained to the highest degree possible.

The boy surprised the court when he proclaimed that his aunt beat him more than his parents and he adamantly refused to live with her. When the judge then suggested that he live with his grandparents, the boy cried and said that they also beat him.

After considering the remainder of the immediate family and learning that domestic violence was apparently a way of life among them, the judge took the unprecedented step of allowing the boy to propose who should have custody of him. After two court recesses to check legal references and confer with the child welfare officials, the judge granted temporary custody to the St Louis Rams football team, whom he firmly believes are not capable of beating anyone. 

- If the moon was made of spareribs, would you eat it? Thanks, John M. 

Freedoms just another word for nothin’ left to lose.

Benny

I went to Taco Tuesday with Gina Party on, well Tuesday. I watched an older man walk into the restaurant, and ask our waitress if he could speak with the manager. He was wearing grubby shorts, an old white t-shirt that barely covered his humongous gut, and looked like he was in need of a tetanus shot.

She replied by saying that she would be happy to get the manager, and politely asked him to wait by the greeter stand. I know there is a French word for this restaurant position, but I’m not in the mood to Google it.

As he walked over to the greeter stand, he stopped at the happy hour food, grabbed a tacquito, took a bite, and placed the remainder on a stack of plates; a stack of plates used by restaurant patrons.

When he finally made it to the greeter stand, I pointed out the half-eaten tacquito to Gina. She was disgusted, and asked who did it.

I pointed and said, “Him.”

He turned around to avoid my stare just as the manager walked up. I watched them talk for a couple of minutes, and then she handed him a card.

After he left, I asked the manager what had transpired. She said that he had a story about being in their establishment the previous week and had experienced poor service. He didn’t say anything at the time because his wife would have been embarrassed.

She gave the douche bag a coupon for two free meals.

I then told the manager that my (almost finished) bottle of beer seemed a bit stale. She smiled, and returned with two refills. Sweet.

- Another reason to avoid internet dating.

- OK State Coach Mike Gundy appears in a Coors Light commercial spoof.

- Hey Ladies, King always says not to fear the armadillo.

- He’s got my sympathy. – (Warning: Contains adult material.)

- This is one dirty weatherman. (Warning: Contains adult material.)

- I like what he’s written so far. (Warning: Contains adult material.)

Hey all right! If I get by, it’s mine. Mine all mine!

Benny

336…The estimated number of times I’ve heard this song by Fergie. 

Thanks for getting the Seinfeld references yesterday. You’re Killing Independent George.

Here are a few pictures from my trip to KC a few weeks ago:

The crowd enters Arrowhead for the home opener.

The pool at Chickie Poo’s apartment complex doesn’t allow alcohol. The crowd seems drastically different that what you would find on a summer weekend at Melrose Place.

This seemed an odd name for a Church. I think I dated one of their parishioners.

The best news I heard all day.

The St. Louis Mayor’s Office won Best Blog (2007) in the RFT reader’s poll. You can’t fight City Hall.

Classic sports interview – Jim Everett versus Jim Rome

All I want for Christmas – The Folding Urinal

I think Gina Party is on this – The New Beer Diet

I hope you know; I hope you know that I’m sick of this song.

Benny

I wasn’t there, but worlds collided on Saturday night at the Trainwreck. Matt M, a buddy since college and cast member of the SOB, recognized fellow cast member Abby from her pictures on the website. I’ve always made a concerted effort to keep these worlds apart.

You have no idea of the magnitude of this thing. If my college buddies are allowed to infiltrate Melrose Place, then Benny as you know him ceases to exist.

My younger Melrose Place friends don’t care that I used to look like Sting when I was younger because I now look like Drew Carey. Conversely, my college buddies don’t need to know that I once had to hit a 6-team parlay to cover rent.

A Benny, divided against itself, cannot stand.

Best wishes to a couple of readers who recently moved out of the Lou. Jane B (formerly Jane W) moved to NYC. And Nathan, King’s former roommate, went back to Ohio. I hope his city wasn’t gone.

Dani-girl uploaded new pictures.

Me, I’m a part of your circle of friends, and we notice you don’t come around.

Benny 

Last weekend was The Annual Chili Cook-Off in Westport. I hung out with Nancy, Chuck H, Vance H, and Joey. Well, they hung out while I got overserved; Again. You know it was a good night when you can’t remember if you paid your tab.

One of the booths was selling venison chili. I’m not an avid hunter, but I think deer hunting season is in November. Carrying the one, that means the meat in their concoction was almost a year old. Thanks, but no thanks.

I always recommend going to Church, but I was rethinking my decision last Sunday after spending the previous day eating twenty different types of chili. During Mass, I started having bathroom issues. Shocker. Then the devil popped on my shoulder and tried convincing me that it was okay to hike my left butt cheek and let one rip. I ignored the demons, but I imagine a fart against the wooden pew would have created some serious reverberation.

List of projects I’m currently working on:

1. Making a list of people living at Melrose Place that I believe could snap at any moment
2. Making a list of things that piss me off
3. Concept for a sitcom

Note: #2 may never get completed because it continues to grow every day.

Can’t Tase This – Thanks, TJ.

These guys remind me of Tom & Stocky Sean getting ready to go out to the clubs. (Warning: Contains profanity) – Thanks, George G.

Well the talk on the street says you might go solo. A good friend of mine saw you leavin’ by the back door.

Benny

I was recently reminded of a story from several years ago. And by several years ago, I mean the statutes of limitation have run out.

I had gone to a sports bar with Tom & B-Unit for an afternoon of college of football and beers. We were overserved, and decided to move the party to a popular nightclub for their happy hour - dollar longnecks from 4 to midnight. It’s hard to believe the club went out of business.

For some reason we abandoned the happy hour beers for Jager Bombs. Mistake.

After six or so J-Bombs, I told the crew I was walking home. Along the way, I stumbled upon a vintage car convention in the parking lot. I also noticed a bike hanging on the front of an RV. I walked over, lifted the bike up, and noticed it wasn’t locked. Mistake.

Since no one seemed to notice, I hopped on the bike, and began to peddle away. As I made my way from the parking lot to the street, my legs were moving at 100 RPM, but the bike was only going 5 miles per hour. I couldn’t figure out how to work the gears, so I just peddled fast like a doofus.

I made it home, locked the door and passed out.

The first thing I saw on Sunday Morning was the bike. The first thing I said on Sunday morning was, ”Oh boy, I did it good this time.”

The sun wasn’t up yet, so I decided the best thing to do was to put the bike next to a tree in the heart of my apartment complex, Melrose Place. I thought surely someone would take it.

Mid-morning came and the stolen bike had not been re-stolen. It just sat there, messing with my conscious.

I then decided the second best thing to do was return the bike to its rightful owner. I put it in the back of my truck, and headed back to the scene of the crime. The RV was still there, but I couldn’t find the occupants.

I asked the couple in the spot next to them, “Do you know who owns this RV?”

“Yeah, they’re inside the hotel checking out of their room,” the guy replied.

“Do you know if they had a bicycle stolen yesterday?”

“Yes, it was a mountain bike. They called the police, but I doubt they find it.”

“Well, a friend of mine got really drunk yesterday and took it. I’m here to bring it back.”

“Wow. They’ll be happy.”

I placed the bike on the rack where I had found it a day earlier. I walked back to my truck and told the guy, “Hey, don’t ever drink Jagermeister.”

“Been there, done that,” he replied.

I drove away before the bike owners returned. I had done the right thing, but didn’t see a reason to stay and risk talking to the Po Po.

I want to ride my bicycle. I want to ride my bike.

Benny