My apologies for the last column. The lesson, as always, don’t write drunk. Seriously. (Also, you have no idea how shocked I was to return my editor’s call and hear him say, “Well, no one else submitted a column this week so you’re it.” I was expecting something more along the lines of, “Dude, are you okay?” or “That was good but I want go in a different direction.” If Sex Wish or Sports Option had bothered doing columns this week, you wouldn’t have had to read that half-rhyme crap I put out. Again, my bad. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I don’t get writer’s block, I just produce a sub par product. And sometimes I produce it while drunk).

There are certain people in my life who I can have entire conversations with, all while simply quoting “The Big Lebowski.” Here’s a sample:

Me: Hey, you guys got a new TV. Wow, that TV really ties the room together, does it not?
Tom: Fuckin’ A.
Me: Is that one of those Plasma TVs?
Tom: Hell yeah. You should have seen how difficult it was to install that thing. There’s a lot to it.
Me: Lots of ins, lots of outs, lots of strands in old duder’s head. How’d you get through it?
Tom: Well, fortunately I’m keeping on a strict drug regimen to keep my mind limber.

Here’s something interesting to me. If someone is fanatic about sports, no one really thinks they’re strange. But then, people like my buddy David, who worship at the twin altars of Star Trek and Star Wars, are always viewed as geeks. Now, I know it’s dorky to be able to name every relative Luke Skywalker has, but why isn’t it equally geeky to be able to name every Chicago White Sox third baseman over the last one hundred years? I guess what I’m asking is, why are sports fanatics considered normal, knowledgeable guys while sci-fi fanatics are considered lonely and insane? When David and I had a conversation about this, the only conclusion I could come to was that he’s a big dork. And that doesn’t help anyone, really.

I love it when I’m talking to a woman, and things are going well, and she drops the whole, “I can’t believe you’re still single” line, which I guess is supposed to be a compliment, but isn’t really. You see, the only women who say that line already have boyfriends that they are getting ready to cheat on, only they want to know just how available you are before they risk the semblance of their old relationship. That is why I like to respond with the “well, I’ve been waiting and waiting but you didn’t show up until now” line, which melts them. Then, later in the night, when she starts telling me why she hates her boyfriend, I always defend him. This teaches her a) not to bring him up again, b) I haven’t been waiting for her at all, and c) I am an asshole. Thus, she can go out the next morning with a new, improved outlook on her man. In this way, I help save relationships. Gentlemen of Tampa, you’re welcome.

And since this is one of those entries where I write a shitty joke about lacking fluidity and logic, I leave you with the following, which I overheard in a casual dining restaurant:

“I think, if Jesus had been really rich, he could have done a lot more for mankind.”