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.

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.

I almost got my ass kicked at the pool on Sunday by that guy. You’ve all seen this guy before. The guy that goes out on the weekend looking for a fight.

This Billy Idol looking mo-fo brought a boom box to the pool and proceeded to turn on the Cardinals game loud enough to drown out the sound of the Melrose Place speakers. I wouldn’t have minded listening to the game, but took issue with some douche walking around like he was Hugh Hefner at the Playboy Mansion. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” I asked.

“Listening to the Cardinals game. You got a problem with that?” he replied.

“Actually I do. I’m a Royals fan.”

“Too f-cking bad. What are they? - 20 games under .500?”

“I don’t think their record is the issue. The issue is you treating the pool like you own it.”

There were a couple of other words exchanged. And then he approached me, stuck his finger in my face and said, “You’re a prick! And if you say another word, I’m going to knock those sunglasses off your f-cking face, old man!”

Since there was no one around that had my back, I resisted the urge to tell him how much I enjoyed his White Wedding video.

I ended up turning the game on, and he apologized after the Cards lost in 13 innings. By the way, the Royals won.

In the midnight hour she cried, “More more more!”

ET phone home…

One of the worst things I ever did happened during the summer after my high school graduation. I think I was supposed to be mowing the lawn or something, but floating around the pool drinking dad’s beer seemed like a better idea.

I had the place to myself until I heard two car doors slam shut. It was my mom and her friend returning home from a day of shopping. And I thought it would be funny if they walked into the house, looked out the kitchen window, and saw me floating face down in the water.

They rushed outside in a panic, screaming hysterically.

I jumped up and tried to act startled. “What’s going on?” I asked.

“We thought you had drowned,” my mother’s friend said in between breaths.

“Nah, I was just diving for pennies.”

I hadn’t seen my mom that disappointed since she found out I gave her graduation ring to my girlfriend, Angie, in the fourth grade. Angie grew up to become a stripper. I sure can pick ‘em.

Quote of the Day

A Taxpayer voting for a Democrat is like a chicken voting for Colonel Sanders.

Thanks, Tory K.

- Man busted for DWI while driving motorized cooler.

- Red Sox fan gets taken down.

- Endless David Caruso one-liners from CSI: Miami.

- CSI: Jim Carrey

- Read President Bush’s resignation speech. Thanks, Tom.

- Rap battle goes bad. NSFW

- News reporter shows that he’s bilingual. NSFW

- A video portrait of Barack Hussein Obama. Thanks, Tom.

I’ll tip my hat to the new constitution. Take a bow for the new revolution.

Start spreading the news… 

No, I’m not in New York for the Belmont Stakes. I will, however, be watching Big Brown’s attempt at the Triple Crown from the friendly confines of the Melrose Place pool.

My first trip to the track was in 1984 when a friend and I were in L.A. for the Olympics. We had a few days without tickets to the games, so we were looking for other things to do. One night we stumbled upon Los Alamitos race track on a map. And by we, I mean me. I didn’t know until we got there, but they raced only quarter horses; not thoroughbreds. But, hey, a win is a win.

A couple of days later, we drove to San Diego. My friend dropped me off at Del Mar, and he went to see the Queen Mary. I still don’t know how he expected to win money on a ship.

As the picture in today’s post would indicate, I’ve been to several race tracks over the years. The stories I’ve collected will be included in my autobiography - Life… 6 Furlongs at a Time.

I share an excerpt from the book below:

One day at Fairmount Park, I ran out of money, and slid my credit card through the cash advance machine. I enjoyed taking advantage of the generous 28% APR my credit card company offered for this type of transaction.

The machine usually read, “Proceed to Cashier,” but this particular time it read, “Pick up the handset.” So, I picked up the phone, and the line began to ring.

“Hello. Is this Benny?” the operator asked.

“Yes,” I replied.

“We’ve noticed you’ve made several cash advance transactions from this location, and want to make sure you don’t have a gambling problem.”

“I don’t think I have a gambling problem. But I’ll admit to having a bit of a cash problem at the moment.”

“Your transaction has been approved. Proceed to the cashier.”

“Thanks, Chief.”

SOB Picks for the 2008 Belmont Stakes (in order):
Big Brown
Ready’s Echo (Abby’s Pick)
Tale of Ekati
Casino Drive SCRATCHED

The Belmont undercard has a couple of races that caught my attention - Benny the Waiter in Race #5 and Benny the Bull in Race #6. I believe that’s why Daily Doubles were created.

I’m leaving today. I want to be a part of it.

During a meeting today, I discovered that a customer was good friends with a former high school buddy of mine. Actually, we started hanging out in the 7th grade, but our friendship soured when he became a Born Again Christian shortly after college.

I didn’t have a problem with him being born again. He seemed happy, and I supported his decision. But what I couldn’t understand was how my drinking buddy turned into Billy Graham overnight.

He broke the news to me during a telephone conversation on New Year’s Eve.

“What are we doing tonight?” I asked.

“Have you accepted Jesus Christ as your savior?” he replied.

“Yes.”

“I mean really accepted him into your heart?”

“Dude, you know I’m a Christian. But what does that have to do with where we’re partying tonight?”

“I’m going to stay home and read the Gospels. I’ll say a prayer for you.”

“Whatever. I have more phone calls to make.”

Days later he would explain his decision. ”I’ve had a lot of close calls in my life, and most of them were with you.”

Fair enough. We did have some close calls. Like the time I drove three hours to the dog track after tossing down a few too many cold ones. I fell asleep at the wheel, and woke up to find my car plowing through a corn field.

His face was as white as a ghost. But hey, we survived. And if I remember correctly, the two of us split a pretty nice trifecta that night.

But there were good times, too. Ones that didn’t involve near death experiences.

I think of the time in 8th grade when we devised a plan to disrupt a junior high basketball game after learning it was National Raisin Day. We pulled panty hose over our heads, ensconced our bodies in large trash bags, and stormed the court tossing miniature boxes of raisins into the crowd. The place went wild. Their response was certainly worth the few hours of detention we received.

And he knows I’m right.