Archive for the Benny Stories (BS) Category

Motor Scooter

So I’m sitting in the locker room today at the gym. I had just gotten there and wanted to send a quick text message. There was an older, fatter man sitting in the same section – naked.

“Put away that cell phone,” he said.

“What?” I asked.

“Cell phones aren’t allowed in the locker room. There’s a sign around the corner.”

Then he proceeded to walk his fat, wrinkly, naked ass around the corner to prove it. “Well, that’s not the sign, but it’s somewhere around here,” he grumbled.

“Do you find this offensive?” I asked, as I held up my cell phone.

“Actually, I do.”

“Really? You know what I find offensive? – Some dude talking to me while he’s naked.”

He shut up and got dressed. I put on my workout clothes, but not before I spent another couple of minutes on my cell phone.

Dick weed.

I repeat will, The Real Slim Shady please stand up?
We’re gonna have a problem here

Soiled Mattress

I noticed this mattress sitting on my neighbor’s patio the other night. I knew the girl that used to live there had moved out, so I was a little concerned about the new neighbors.

“Maybe they’re moving things around inside and needed the space,” someone said.

“Maybe,” I replied.

The following morning I ran into one of the Melrose Place staff.

Drink – I said staff.

“Who’s my new neighbor?” I asked.

“I’m not sure. Why?”

“Because they have a soiled mattress sitting on their patio.”

He looked outside, and realized what apartment I was talking about.

“Oh, that one. There’s no one living there right now. The girl that used to live there left that behind.”

“That’s her mattress?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“No reason.”

The world
And the world turns around

Altered Computer Keyboard

Kahuku, HI, February 1, 1996:…On this day in history, I was staying at the Turtle Bay Resort on the North Shore of Oahu with a girlfriend I affectionately called ‘Doggie Style.’ And by affectionately, I mean she had no idea that is what I called her to my friends.

The hotel was sweet. It’s the same place they filmed ‘Forgetting Sarah Marshall.’ I’m not lying. Google it.

Anyway, we had spent the previous three days on the tourist-filled streets and beaches of Waikiki Beach, so the resort was a welcome change.

After we checked into the room, we went for a walk, and ended up in the woods along the golf course. I can’t explain what happened next other than we had outdoor sex. Twenty minutes later we were putting our clothes back on. And by twenty, I mean three.

As we walked back into civilization she noticed her legs were covered with red insect bites. I spotted a security guard and asked, “Are there mosquitoes in Hawaii?”

He pointed and replied, “The woods behind you are infested with them.”

I bought her a Skeeter Stik at the gift shop, but it didn’t seem to help with the itching. Then I told her the mosquitoes had bitten her because she has such sweet blood. She gave me a dirty look, and said I was being insensitive.

I went down to the bar and got drunk on Blue Hawaiians and Mai Tais.

That girl was moody.

I bought a ticket to the world
But now I’ve come back again

Chevy Monza

The Bob and Tom Show has been asking listeners to submit stories about their first car. Here’s mine.

My first car was a 1979 Chevrolet Monza. One cold day I discovered I was unable to move the lever to the defrost setting.

I told my dad who was a car expert, who looked under the dash.

A few minutes later, he said, “I’ll be go to hell.”

He hands me a silver metal box. We looked inside and found rolling papers, a few small pipes and a guitar-shaped key that turned into a roach clip when you squeezed it.

We had just discovered the previous owner’s stash box.

At the dinner table he showed my mom and brothers what we had found. Then he started fumbling through the box searching for something.

He looked at me and asked, “Where’s that guitar thing?”

“On my keychain,” I replied.

“Give it back.”

The defroster worked fine after that day. But I never found another guitar-shaped roach clip.

Here in my car
I feel safest of all
I can lock all my doors
It’s the only way to live in cars

Billboard

I don’t have a lot of romantic Valentine’s Day stories. That’s because I usually try to break-up with girlfriends around birthdays and holidays.

Hey, don’t laugh. I’ve managed to save a ton of money over the years using this method. And by save, I mean blew at the track.

But one year in college I met this girl right before the lover’s holiday. She seemed normal. You know, except for the Rick Springfield posters plastered on every square inch of her dorm room wall.

Anyway, I invited her over for a VD dinner. I baked some pre-packaged chicken cordon bleu, complimented with two bottles of Mad Dog 20/20.

Classy.

What’s even better is I passed the entrée off as homemade, and poured the Mad Dog into an empty bottle of a more desirable wine. I think it was Riunite.

Don’t judge. Just let me finish. That’s what she said.

“I had no idea you were such a great cook,” she said during dinner.

“Oh, it was nothing, but thanks. More wine?”

“Yes, please. This wine is wonderful.”

I’m not going to say what was served for desert. But I’m glad I had added whipped cream to the shopping list.

Fast forward three days…

I was able to avoid contact by ignoring phone calls, and not going near her dorm.

I know – what a dick. Did I mention the Rick Springfield posters?

And then later that night – BAM! There she was – standing on my doorstep.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” she asked.

“Sure, come in.” I replied.

We walked into my bedroom where she began to cry.

“Why haven’t you returned any of my calls?”

“I’ve been busy studying for a couple of tests, and working on a computer lab project.”

Liar, liar, penis on fire.

“Well, I need to tell you something,” she mumbled in between sobs.

“What is it?”

“I had a miscarriage.”

Okay, let me stop right here. I’m no vagina doctor, but I’m pretty sure women can’t get pregnant and then lose a baby – in 3 days!

In addition, I’m 99% certain my boys can’t swim. Either that or I’m the luckiest SOB to ever walk a college campus.

I just gave her a big hug, and told her I was sorry. And then I walked her crazy ass to the door.

What a whack job.

Hey, remind me to tell you about the time a chick shredded my Bon Jovi cassette tape into little pieces – and then threw it on my porch with an evil note.

Never mind. I’ll remember.

You need coolin’. Baby I’m not foolin’. I’m gonna send ya, back to schoolin’.

Tom's Tuna

Shop at Sam’s Club much?

I want to thank Tom d G for hosting the Super Bowl Party this year – and for supplying the endless amount of vodka and Jaeger shots.

Needless to say, I didn’t pay close attention to the game. Shit, I had to get on the internet the next day to check the box score.

Drink – I said box.

Now we gear up for the trip to California in March to visit King’s crew. Developing…

I had dinner last night with a college buddy who was in town on business. It’s funny how people remember a story about you that you have no memory of ever happening.

“You going to drop acid on dead day again this year?” he asked.

“What are you talking about?” I replied.

“Don’t you remember the night before finals when you took a hit of acid in the back of that truck?”

“No, but that might explain why I couldn’t find my Economics class the next morning.”

“Well, maybe it wasn’t acid. You might have eaten some mushrooms.”

“I’m pretty sure the type of hallucinogenic is irrelevant.”

“How did you do on that test?”

“Funny Bone has open mic nights on Tuesdays. You should come back into town and give it a try.”

Lysergic acid diethylamide is the scientific name for LSD. I learned that in chemistry lab. Wink.

You’re bringing up times I can’t recall. And I’m sure they made your point. But I just can’t seem to remember, yeah.

Bitch Creek Beer

This looks like a pretty good ice breaker.

A couple of things tonight…first I want to go over the relationship advice I received from Issac.

I don’t want to go into a lot of detail, but last weekend I puked on a woman’s area rug. Now, I’ve dated some women for years, some for months, and others for weeks. Shit, I’ve even dated a few for minutes. Wink.

But I’ve never had a relationship turn from good to bad in such a short period of time. A week has gone by, and she has agreed to give us a fresh start.

Now for the advice from Issac – “You should tell her that she overreacted. That’s all.”

“Okay, let me get this straight. I puked on the woman’s rug. She watched me do it, and was completely disgusted. She spent hours cleaning it. She has agreed to give me another chance. And you think I should tell her that she just overreacted. Is that right?”

“Yep.”

“That is quite possibly the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I’m just saying.”

The other item on my plate tonight is the cab ride I had on Wednesday. I was over-served once again, and asked the bartender to call me a cab.

The guy arrived in about a half hour, and I got into the back seat. “Where are you going?” he asked.

“Westport. Just take the Page Extension to Bennington, and go left,” I replied.

“Where exactly are you going?”

“Westport.”

“What’s the address?”

“You know what? – Just drop me off at the YMCA at the top of the hill. Is that good enough for you?”

He took off, and I started popping off jokes about Tiger. “How many swings did Tiger’s wife take at him? She said, ‘I’m not really sure. Put me down for a five.'”

He mumbled something about me being a racist, and I guess that’s when I passed out.

I woke up to find this jack-off driving me through the streets of North St. Louis City.

“Are you smoking crack?” I asked.

“Hey, you didn’t tell me where you wanted to go, so I’m just driving.”

“I told you to take me to Westport; not the f’n hood you dumb fuck.”

When we made it onto Broadway, I told him to pull over. “I see the meter says I owe you $65,” I said.

“Yeah, it’s still running.”

“You are out of your f’n mind if you think I’m paying you.” And then I got out of the cab and slammed the door.

The mf’er didn’t come after me, but I found myself walking the streets of downtown at 1:30 in the morning.

Thankfully, I was able to find another cab on The Landing. “Can you take me to Westport?” I asked.

“Sure.”

I prayed the entire way home. I finally felt safe when we passed the airport. And the other cab driver better pray I never run into his punk ass again.

But it’s too late to say you’re sorry. How would I know, why should I care? Please don’t bother trying to find her. She’s not there.

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