Archive for April, 2010

Sign in Men's Restroom

I want to give a shout out to cast member Crowe Dog and his lovely fiancé, Melissa. They got engaged a couple of weeks ago. Congratulations.

The news of his pending nuptials caught me a bit off guard. I mean, I wasn’t surprised he got engaged. I was just surprised it was to a woman.

I always figured I’d get a call from Crowe Dog one day and he would say, “Me and Steve are in Vermont, and we couldn’t be happier.”

INT. BENNY’S APARTMENT – NIGHT

BENNY is surfing the internet on his computer. He is stressed after reading the weekend weather forecast for Louisville, KY.

The Kentucky Derby is Saturday, and there’s a 60% chance of rain.

I can’t take it anymore! I’m trying to write this movie script – I’m making posts to the SOB – I’m sending updates to Twitter and Facebook – And now I have to find a horse with a pedigree for the slop that’s bred to get the mile and a quarter at Churchill.

But hey, the track should be fast for the Oaks on Friday.

But it’s too late to say you’re sorry
How would I know, why should I care

It's Benny's - Not Denny's

I’ve been keeping this on the low down.

Down low.

No doubt.

But John M and I are meeting with a film director this week to discuss turning The Summer of Benny into a movie. The plan is to start small by producing a short film or trailer.

I thought about pitching The SOB as a documentary, but a lot of people would probably end up in jail.

We think the initial project will be a few minutes long. Or about the same amount of time I lasted on prom night. Stupid big boobs.

I like this idea because it makes more sense than spending months writing a movie script that probably wouldn’t get sold. I mean, I doubt there are many producers willing to take a financial risk on an unknown writer that may or may not have a bed wetting problem.

I’m not getting too excited though, because this project may never see the light of day. I’m a little worried the director might read my script – take a look at me – and tell me to have another beer.

I’d walk away like a movie star
Who gets burned in a three way script.
Enter number two:

Beer at Westport Pizza on 4/20

Here’s a nice kick in the balls. I’ve been walking during my lunch for the last couple of weeks. It beats going to McDonald’s or Taco Bell.

But today, three people I knew stopped because they thought my car had broken down.

I wasn’t upset they had stopped to help. That was nice.

But I was a little offended when I realized the thought of me exercising hadn’t crossed their minds.

What – the fucking earplugs to my MP3 player didn’t tip you off?

I mean, who needs a AAA membership? I just kick out my favorite tunes, and then wander aimlessly for miles.

Seriously.

The bourbon’s hitting me. I better stop.

Waiting by the side of the road
For day to break so we could go
Down into Los Angeles
With dirty hands and worn out knees

I should be at the gym this morning but decided to write a post instead. I couldn’t type last night due to a severe case of the shakes.

You see, what I thought would be a relaxing weekend turned into a bender – highlighted by throwing a party at Tom’s while he was staying in a hotel downtown.

First, we had to convince Issac to pick us up at Pujols 5 and drive us to Tom’s. I got a little offended when he accused me of lying about having Tom’s blessing.

I was.

And his suspicions were confirmed when we couldn’t get into the house. I’m sure the neighbors appreciated seeing three drunk guys trying to find an unlocked door while the designated driver looked on in disgust.

Fortunately he called a few minutes later to let us know where he hides the key.

Tom called me on Sunday morning and asked, “Do you think it’s weird that I knew you guys slept here, and the first thing I did was feel my furniture to see if it was wet?”

“No.”

Then he said he wasn’t ready to let the weekend go, so we went back over there, and spent the rest of the day sitting in the driveway. You know, just talking about the ash cloud covering Europe, while sipping Lattes.

I’m not a math whiz but I came up with the following formula:

Sunday Fun Day = Monday Suck Day

Ow oh. Hey you. Who said that? Baby, how you been?

I think this spot is taken

I probably take this way too seriously, but I’m amazed at the way people speak and write these days. I mean, what happened to grammar and the English language?

I’m no wordsmith. But I know how to use f’n spell check.

Oops…”f’n” not in dictionary.

Okay, text messages get a break. They’re limited by the amount of characters, so abbreviations are used.

LOL, OMG…I get that.

But don’t use that same mindset when you’re in a professional setting.

Here’s an auto-reply email I recently received:

Please note my regular hour are Monday through Friday 8 to 5 ET. If this is a bout an additional information letter received please have customers fax the information to XXX-XXX-XXXX.  If Recently declined, please have customers fax most recent paystubs and any agreements that may apply as income.  Other wise I will respond to your request as soon as I return to the office.

Thanks, Murphy Brown.

Then there are the people that make comments on Facebook that lack any hint of intelligence.

This little beauty was written by someone after reading about a friend’s sick baby:

sorry to hear dats but he will cum thru just fine just stay strong for him if u cry just hide so he wnt see it he look like he dnt understand but he do

Thanks, Lil’ Wayne.

Baby, write this down. Take a little note to remind you in case you didn’t know.

Natalie

Dear Natalie,

I’m sorry I can’t be with you on your birthday. You are the best fake girlfriend a guy could ever  hope for.

I expected my trip to California to be just another drunk-fest. But the night we never spent together means the world to me.

I was bummed when I heard you were going to be out of town the rest of that weekend. And if the stupid cab driver would have accepted a post-dated check, I would have made the trip to see you at Sand Mountain. Wherever the hell that is.

I’m rambling. You know how I get.

Anyway, you are sexy, funny, and I miss what we had.

Have a great birthday.

Benny

And you can’t understand that she’s my girl. She’s my girl.

Napa Bus

My internet was down all weekend, so I didn’t get a chance to finish the California trip.

West Coast SOB – Day 3

Napa is about an hour and a half drive from Sacramento. So it just made sense to stop at Safeway on the way to pick up some champagne and beer.

And when King offered to pay for my trip if I wore a pair of adult diapers, well, that just made sense, too.

Note – three cycles seems to be the limit. After that, you’ve got yourself a leaker.

We went to three wineries – Peju, Franciscan, and Rutherford.

All three were nice, but if you make it to Peju, be sure to get Richie as your sales guy. He didn’t seem to mind entertaining a bunch of drunk people – one of which was pissing himself.

I don’t know how he does it. If I’m designated driver for a night, I’m ready to find a new group of friends.

We stopped by some ritzy restaurant on the way home. I knew we were out of our element when I saw a Lamborghini in the parking lot.

What kind of Lamborghini was it?

Red.

We got out of there after Devo bought a round of Amstel Lights for $10 a pop.

“You’ve got to see the view!” was all I kept hearing.

Well, I’ve paid $10 for a beer before – at a strip club. And believe me, the view was much better.

We asked the bus driver to drop us off at Mandango’s – the local watering hole of the West Coast SOB.

I overheard our tour guide calling the bar before we got there. “Hey, we’re coming in…and we’re coming in hot.”

That was an understatement.

Red sun down, out across the western sky.

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