My coffee cartel was exposed this morning. You see, I’ve been using the hotel down the street as my own personal Starbucks for years. A few times a week I would enter the property through a guest entrance, take the elevator to the lobby, and grab a complimentary cup of coffee and a USA Today.

And three times a week I will require a cannoli.

But this morning the manager noticed a golf shirt I was wearing from a course in Las Vegas, and started a conversation about how he once played there. Unless I somehow convince him that I’m Howard Hughes, I’m going to keep it on the DL for a while.

I devised a similar plan to get a free continental breakfast last Sunday. I set out on foot and stopped at the same hotel since I was familiar with the surroundings. They offered a pretty nice spread, but charged for the buffet. I walked a half-mile or so to the next one – same story. I tried yet another, but the only food they offered came in a vending machine.

I had walked over two miles in search of a free meal, without success, and finally decided to get breakfast the old-fashioned way – I went to McDonalds. But I had forgotten that I don’t carry my wallet during these excursions. If I’m ever asked to identify myself by the po po, I will be known only as “Crowe Dog.”

When I got home, I jumped into the car, drove to the store, and bought a 12-pack. My breakfast ended up being a few potato chips and an InBev Light.

- Janers shot this video of a guy sitting next to her in a coffee shop in NYC.

I’m a loser, what a joker. I’m playing my jokes upon you.

Slap Bet

I found another way to make women mad - blackmail them. On my hard drive (drink, he said hard), I have photos of three chicks flashing their boobies. Two of them have threatened me with litigation if I post them. The other shows her tits more than Obama says the word, “change.”

I have three plans for the naughty pics:

1. Post them
2. Hold them for ransom – I’m thinking a 30-pack of Natty Light and a month-long window in which I can touch their boobies upon request.
3. Burn them to CD, and address the situation after one of them comes into a large sum of money.

What do they plan on getting by suing me anyway? My assets include a 20-inch TV that doesn’t turn off, a 15-year old bedroom set, and a sofa that’s been pissed on so many times, I couldn’t give it away.

Here is my response to the Titty Twins - Take Option #2. Buy me beer, let me feel you up for a month, and it’s over. If you agree to these conditions, I will destroy the pictures after the month of nipple rubbing is over.

It should be noted that the two women in question are not SOB cast members. So don’t send emails requesting topless pictures of Dani-girl, Abby, Maribeth or Sheila E.

As for Gina Party, I’ve started a photo album, and plan to release it as a slideshow during the holidays.

- WTF is this? 

- Mr. Nice Hands will always make me laugh. 

- A guy builds a roller coaster in his backyard.

- As of July 1, 2008, California is requiring hands free use of cell phones while driving.

Every time I see your face, it reminds me of the places we used to go.

Man, how brutal are Mondays after a 3-day weekend? I was barely able to make it back to the pool this afternoon. On the flipside, my base tan is really coming along nicely.

I spent the 4th of July with a girlfriend of Sheila E.’s who was in town with her boyfriend for the weekend. Here are a few of the lowlights…

We were reprimanded by a bar owner for using vulgar language in front of children. I’m still trying to figure out what they were doing there in the first place. It’s not like we were in Arnold.

We stopped to get beer on the way home, and got kicked out of 7-11 because a guy in the group stole a promotional sign for The Incredible Hulk. Incredibly, we were still allowed to leave with the beer.

Back at the pool, the chick’s boyfriend dropped his shorts, and jumped into the water. After realizing he didn’t like wet underwear, he chucked his drawers onto the roof at Melrose Place. We started a betting pool on when they would fall off, but the maintenance crew brought them down this morning with a skimmer pole. All wagers were refunded.

And yes, you perverts, there were girls there.

I saw quite possibly the worst Wingman ever while at the bar. A guy standing next to us saw his buddy kissing a girl and yelled, “Hey, it looks like the drought is over!” Ouch…

On Saturday morning, a few of us walked over to Westport to watch Dani-girl finish her half-marathon race. She obviously spent her holiday differently than I had.

A few hours later, I was back at the pool again.

I knew it was going to be a rough one when Tom predicted a hard day of drinking like Babe Ruth calling a home run. He ended his day by eating four bratwursts, several of which had fallen on the concrete. I still get sick thinking about it. I heard he tried to make a go of it at Trainwreck, but had to leave when he couldn’t stand up anymore. Word on the street is he passed out on the sidewalk during the walk home, and was rescued when someone driving by recognized him.

My Saturday night was spent at Gina Party’s where a group of girls not known for showing their boobs suddenly lost their inhibitions and posed for the camera. Isn’t alcohol great? I’m still negotiating the release of the photos.

I would write about Sunday, but the Xanax just kicked in.

Do my best to waste another day.

The day was July 3, 1990, and I had an opportunity to alter my destiny. Five weeks earlier, I had won a preliminary stand-up comedy contest and the final competition was being held the night before Independence Day.

I had never done any stand-up before, but some friends convinced me to give it a try. I wrote down five minutes of comedy and advanced to the finals on my first attempt. Keep in mind that several weeks had passed between the prelim and the finals, and I had made no attempt to memorize the jokes I had written.

I left work early on the day of the show and headed to the race track. I thought drinking a few cold ones while playing the ponies would calm my nerves. My girlfriend drove to the comedy club that night because I was already over the legal limit. The contestants drew numbers, and I was 6 of eight – plenty of time to down several bourbons.

When I took the stage, the lights hit me, the crowd stared, and I realized I was too drunk to speak. I somehow managed to slur a few jokes, but the emcee began giving signs that my time was up. I let a few expletives fly, and the microphone was shut off. I did the walk of shame through the crowd, stumbled outside to the parking lot, and passed out on the hood of my girlfriend’s car.

I woke up the next morning at the foot of her waterbed, curled up in a fetal position. My underwear was soaked, as was the bed – which I thought had sprung a leak. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was the one that had sprung a leak.

“Did I win?” I asked.

“Are you fu**king kidding me? she replied. Classy gal…

“I’ll take that as a no. By the way, your waterbed is leaking.”

Not only had I lost a chance to perform at a Chicago comedy club – which was the first place prize - I had wet the bed for the first time as an adult.

And the rest, as they say, is history.

This Day in Benny History

1971: Jim Morrison dies

1990: Kicked off stage during a stand-up comedy contest. Wet the bed for the first time since completing potty training

2001: Lost job; golf at Annbriar

2003: Oceans of Fun with Lil’ Bro and family

2005: Cards game; Jake’s Leg at Fair St. Louis

2006: Vacation day; pool; saw Gina Party’s boobs for the first time

2007: Pool

- The Riverfront Times selected the SOB as the Local Blog O’ the Week in their July 3-9 issue. You’ll have to scroll down to find the plug.

Love me tonight for I may never see you again.

Daddy-O putting together a 9-team parlay

Today’s picture is Mr. O.’s dad wearing his SOB T-shirt into a sports book in Las Vegas. Sweet.

I haven’t made a post this week because I’ve been in jury duty. I was supposed to appear last January, but had a prior commitment. And by commitment, I mean I don’t like cold weather. The instructions on the summons stated that I was allowed one postponement, and had to choose another week within six months to be available. I thought by choosing a holiday week, my chances of being selected would be reduced.

Wrong.

My name was called along with 35 others, and we were led into a courtroom. The judge introduced the defendant who was accused of robbery, armed criminal action, rape and sodomy - six counts in all.

Both attorneys asked a number of questions to the prospective jurors. Some of these people were obviously too stupid to serve on a jury. If I was one of the attorneys, and heard some of the answers given, I would have shown them the door.

When we broke for lunch, the judge instructed us to be back in the courtroom by 1:30, and the jury panel would be selected. They called 12 names, and mine wasn’t one of them. Now, I’ll admit that I’m not a law scholar, but I’ve seen 12 Angry Men, so I thought I was safe.

Wrong.

The bailiff called my name as the alternate – unlucky no. 13.

The people not chosen were told their services were no longer needed for the week, and they were free to leave. As I watched their smiling asses walk out of the courtroom, I shot a glance at a couple of the dumber ones.

I saw and heard things during the trial that were unbelievable. The alleged victim and defendant both took the stand. And I was thinking to myself – neither one of these people needs to be walking the streets.

During the defendant’s testimony, his attorney had to interrupt and ask him explain to the jury what “snappin’ on” means. Apparently, it means the same things as nagging. Who knew?

One of the defendant’s buddies shot me a Shug Knight look during the trial. So, I shot a look back thinking, “I’m the alternate, douche bag.”

After hearing closing arguments, the judge instructed the jury to elect a foreperson and begin deliberations. He told me that my services were no longer needed, and I could go.

I read today that the defendant was found guilty on 2 of the six charges. The jury must have reached their decision while I was sipping on a cold one at the pool.

The lawyers clean up all details, since daddy had to lie.