My old friend Brick likes to go up to people who wear their baseball caps sideways, tap them on the shoulder, then discreetly whisper, “Dude, I don't want to draw attention to it or anything, but your hat's on crooked. You may want to fix that.” It's good for a laugh.

In the past week the world has lost both James Brown and Gerald Ford. If there is a heaven, and God does have a sense of humor, those two are both up there, sitting in a bar together, drinking bourbon and looking awkwardly at one another, trying to think of something to say.

For some reason, whenever I wear my black, wool overcoat, people always ask me if I'm in the military. I like to think that this is because of my amazing posture, but it probably has something to do with my hair.

Fearless Editor Court Sullivan's girlfriend was the fifth chick to tell me that my blog is not all that interesting when I don't have a girlfriend. Fortunately for me, this is nowhere near a good reason to get a girlfriend.

I often wonder which tastes better: egret or heron.

My little brother made me watch Al Gore's “An Inconvenient Truth.” And after doing so, I must say, Al Gore is boring.

After visiting both Atlanta and St. Louis, I have developed a newfound appreciation for where I live. Say what you will about the soaring crime rates, the exhausted ecosystem and the pushy tourists, it's just great not having to wear socks. That's worth a lot to me.

I've been flying pretty regularly for almost ten years now, and I have to say that it would be pretty difficult to make the airport experience less enjoyable, yet every year, they manage to pull it off. I think that's pretty impressive.

I never have any use for whiskey unless the outside temperature is below forty degrees Fahrenheit.

All my old friends from high school are either married, engaged or tapping kids on their shoulders and reminding them that their hats are on crooked. Safe to say I'm getting old.

And finally, because logic and fluidity still haven't shaken off their hangovers, I leave you with the following, which a girl named Jenny told me fifteen minutes after meeting me:

“You're an asshole.”


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