Why Don’t We Get Drunk

Trimming the trees at Melrose Place

Good News: I will have an unobstructed view of the pool this summer.

Bad News: People at the pool will have an unobstructed view of me.

So, Tom called me on Sunday morning with a story. A female co-worker of his went to the Cardinals game on Saturday afternoon with Dani-girl, Abby and the rest of the chick click.

The regulars didn’t make it past ten o’clock, but the newcomer went to a bar with Tom and Crowe Dog. She managed another hour of partying before pulling three barstools together for a place to sleep.

They carried her outside and put her in the backseat of Tom’s car. When they returned a few hours later, they discovered the backseat was soaked. The girl had peed her pants.

Wait, it gets better.

Once home, they carried her into Tom’s guest bedroom. When he went to check on her the next morning, he discovered his bed was…wait for it…soaking wet.

Tom confronted her about the situation, and she said, “Hey, that’s what happens when you party with me. I drink too much, I pee the bed.”

“I need to introduce you to a buddy of mine. He takes pills for this,” he told her.

“They have pills for it?”

You’re welcome.

A lot of people started referring to this girl as my soul mate. But let me be completely clear about something. There can be only one bed wetter in a relationship. Otherwise, you’ll spend the entire next day arguing over who did it.

Happy Birthday, Tory K.

Congratulations to reader John M. for completing the St. Louis Marathon on Sunday. He ran the 26.2 miles wearing his SOB T-shirt.

Have you ever been giving a sales presentation in front of a group of strangers, one of which was a smoking hot chick with big boobs, and said, “At the end, we’ll have a brief T&A session”?

Me neither.

I just bought a water bed. It’s filled up for me and you.