A few shout-outs:

Leo – Thanks for the crutches. They’re working great even though the lowest setting is 5′ 10″. I know I’m not that tall, but my weight is ideal for 5′ 10″. I looked it up.

“You mean you’re wider than you are tall?” (Inside joke)

JT – Thanks for getting me the same Christmas gift as last year – a case of long-cut wintergreen chewing tobacco. I only dip because the chicks dig it.

Wetback – I saved your OnStar number in my phone. You now hold the record for contacts with the most telephone numbers (4) – a record that may never be broken.

Update: I decided not to disappoint the kids (and my buddy, Niro), so I opted for the UPS route and delivered the Christmas presents on Saturday – sore cankle and all.

The mom invited me into the house for a cup of coffee, but I politely declined. Now, if the offer had been to watch the Big 12 Championship over a few cold ones, my answer might have been different.

Sunday morning I turned into Meals on Wheels after Tom requested a delivery of pot pies and Natty Light to his house. I brought them over but didn’t stay long. I’ve seen the ending to that movie before.

I’m bored and have a couple of hours to kill. Hey, that’s just enough time to whack off.

WTF did you just say?

Something ’bout the way the hair falls in your face.

Never run up icy stairs after you’ve been drinking – Because you’ll end up with a severely sprained ankle (cankle).

So, I spent Monday morning in the doctor’s office. I already had an appointment scheduled later in the week to discuss my new medication, but moved it up after I was unable to walk over the weekend.

I winced in pain while the doctor looked at my cankle, but was more focused on discussing the side-effect from my new medicine – prolonged ejaculation.

I mean, the amount of time it takes me to get a nut is ridiculous. It’s gotten so bad that I’ve started faking it.

After the cankle exam was complete, he told me to keep weight off the foot for 3-5 days and prescribed a pain killer. Sweet.

“How’s the new medication working?” he then asked while looking at my chart.

“Well, the prolonged ejaculation thing was a bit of an understatement,” I said.

“Are you having any trouble getting an erection?”

“No, that’s not a problem. I can get one now if you want.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Well, I think my girlfriend is getting a little tired of it. Last night she asked me to finish myself so she could get some sleep.”

“Yeah, that sounds like a problem. I’m going to prescribe another medication that should help counteract that side-effect.”

“Thanks.”

I got a girl she lives cross town. She’s the one that really gets down.

Another day, another lesson… Never come into town, drop off a bunch of Christmas presents, and ask me to deliver them to your neighbor’s family that happen to live in St. Louis - Because I’m not frickin’ UPS. 

Now I find myself in quite the dilemma. On one hand, a buddy has entrusted me with an important task. On the other, I probably won’t get many gifts myself, so I’m kind of excited to see what’s inside the boxes.

What should I do with the presents?

(a) Celebrate the season and deliver them wearing a Santa hat

(b) Have someone film me opening them, and post a video link on the SOB

(c) Kick it up a notch and open them on Christmas morning via a live webcam

(d) Hold them for ransom like a Somali pirate

Since there are kids involved, I’ll probably go with the Santa hat thing. But then again, I’m sober right now.

And don’t worry baby, we’ll celebrate plenty. I’ll buy you some shades a brand new bikini.

Let this picture serve as a warning – Never ask me to check on your cat while you’re out of town – Because if I have to use my lunch break to scrape cat shit out of a litter box, I’m going to leave a floater.

My buddy’s lucky I didn’t Top Shelf his ass. In the South this is also known as an Upper Deck.

I was down to 186 lbs. this morning. That’s after reaching a high weight of 198 this summer (the best time to be your fattest). But I still have more than 20 pounds to go. I mean, me losing 12 pounds is hard to notice. Think of trying to find Crowe Dog in a crowded gay bar.

Some of it may just be water weight, though. Sunday night I slept under a heavy comforter, and woke up sweating like Anne Heche eating a corn dog.

On a morning from a Bogart movie.

I’m back home in the Bat Cave after being in KC for Thanksgiving. And by Thanksgiving, I mean a 4-day bender.

I went to Jo B’s 23rd annual Friday night party on, well, Friday night. It was great talking with people I hadn’t seen in 20 years. But I got tired of hearing the same questions.

- What’s your secret for staying in shape all these years?
- Can you still run a sub-5 minute mile?
- How are you still single?
- Can you believe we finally have a black president?

On Saturday Mr. and Mrs. O drove in from Wichita to watch the Mizzou/Kansas game with me at a bar. Afterwards, a sober Mrs. O drove a drunken Mr. O back to Wichita.

And she wonders why I call her the Luckiest Lady in the World.

I didn’t watch much news in between sessions, but I saw NASA was finally able to get the urine-to-drinking water machine working in space.

If this thing is ever sold commercially, I’m going to make a fortune off my mattress.

“I didn’t talk to nobody.”

“Did you just say you didn’t talk to nobody?”

“Yeah I did, Benny (know-it-all smartass).“

Sorry – this is an inside joke. Sometimes these are just for me.

It was a cold and wet December day when we touched the ground at JFK.