Thanks in part to my girlfriend, Thursday’s post really didn’t take too much out of me. So consider this a bonus post. Or don’t. See if I give a grease-covered crap pile.
I don’t know if any of you dear readers are planning a Florida vacation this Spring (I mean, how would I?), but, if you want to party with PIC writer Michael Curtiss and PIC owner Court Sullivan, get your hotel rooms now. Court and Mike will be in the Tampa Bay area from April 20th to the 23rd. And me, well, I’m always here. This is home. Anyway, so I’ll know how many squad cars it’ll take to haul all of us in, if you think you can make it, send an email to me at [email protected]. Or don’t. See if I give a dirty pigeon’s wing.
Most of my friends don’t want me to write about them. Most of my female friends tell me to change their names if I write about them. My girl actually wants to be mentioned in my writing (to the point where she hardly reads anything that doesn’t mention her). Now, this would probably make sense if anyone she knew read my stuff. But none of my friends in Tampa read the newspaper (let alone this website), so I can’t figure out why she likes the attention so much. I brought this up to her and she just shrugged and said that she thinks it’s neat when she’s mentioned. And yes, she actually used the word, neat. So, in case you’re scoring at home, my woman is insane to the point where she will read this paragraph several times because it’s about her. You know what that means, right? One of these days I will put my literary foot in my mouth, and she will freak out and impale me with a kitchen utensil. Throw a few prayers my way. Or don’t. See if I give a used tampon.
Oh, and if you do come down to hang with Court, Mike, and me, please remember that Court will make puns constantly whether you like it or not and Mike hates it when you ask him how he got the extra S. I like rum, so you can bring some of that. Or not. See if I care. Actually, I take that back. I really do care. Bring some rum.
So my girl said she was gonna make me dinner. And I thought, ‘wow, that’ll be nice.’ And then the next thing I knew, I was renting a movie and buying beverages at her request. So, her making me dinner somehow managed to cost me thirty bucks. Something is not right there. And one of these days, I’m gonna figure it out. Or maybe I won’t. See if you care (see what I did? Yeah, neither do I).
By the by, if you come on down to the Tampa Bay area this April, and you want to have sex with me, you have to have sex with my girlfriend, too. Gotta have rules.
And finally, because this is one of those posts where I abandon logic and fluidity like a crackhead abandons her newborns, I leave you with the following, which I overheard at (of all places) a bar:
“The World Baseball Classic is almost as stupid as the olympics.”