City Of Blinding Lights

I haven’t written in four days because I’ve been on a four-day bender. It began Thursday night at Parties at the Plaza where Dani-girl was denied the title of Ms. Westport. We were all rooting for her to win, but life goes on.

The rest of the weekend went like this:

Friday: Dinner at lady friend’s house

Have you ever had a girl invite you over for dinner, and when you got there discovered she had invited her neighbor and boyfriend join you, and they turned out to be swingers?

Me neither.

Don’t you know what it means to become an orgy guy? It changes everything. I’d have to dress different. I’d have to act different. I’d have to grow a mustache and get all kinds of robes and lotions and I’d need a new bedspread and new curtains. I’d have to get thick carpeting and weirdo lighting. I’d have to get new friends. I’d have to get orgy friends. Naw, I’m not ready for it.

Saturday: Party at SOB satellite office

Sunday: Watched football with Doug Wetback and Issac

I think the cricket I firebombed last weekend must of had a lot of friends because I’ve noticed several crickets surrounding the perimeter. They’re probably going to storm my apartment like Issac at an Obama rally. When that happens, I’ll just stomp on them one-by-one with my shoe. And yes ladies, I have big feet for a guy my size. Wink.

If you’ve been picking the Chiefs and Rams in your office pools, or, Heaven forbid, been betting on them – well, you’re just mad at your money. I think both teams should forfeit the remainder of their seasons, and play a pee wee exhibition game during the halftime of the Mizzou/Kansas game in November.

Oh you look so beautiful tonight.