There’s something to be said for a girl who is willing to sleep with you on the first night you meet her and willing to consider herself your girlfriend the very next day. That something is “crazy.” Look, I don’t care how attractive she is, if she fell in love with you because of that one drunken hook up, she has problems. And guys, the beautiful ones are just as nuts as the ugly ones. You keep that in mind.

I want all of you women to understand something here: the MLB playoffs have started. As I’m typing this, I’m constantly being interrupted by the Sox/Sox game. At work today, my productivity was killed between the hours of 1:30 and 4:30 because I kept running in and out of the closest bar in a weak attempt to watch my Cardinals beat the Padres. And the Yanks are playing the Angels tonight. That means, ladies, just so you know, I do not want to go to a poetry reading, listen to your friend’s band or spend some time, “you know, catching up.” How do you always know when I want to watch sports? How? How? How?

The older you get, the more relevant becomes the question, “What do we got to lose?” I used to think, “Well, absolutely nothing.” Now, I have a checklist.

People who only carry cash are typically about four times more fun than people who never carry cash, but people who never carry cash are more likely to have a college degree and an inability to fight, so they’re generally safer. Just something I’ve noticed. And yes, I know there are some people who carry both and I am excluding them from this observation. It’s my blog, I can do what I want. And, to quote 311 yet again, “If you don’t like it, well, I hope you do.”

I got an e-mail from an old friend who I hadn’t seen in years. She got my address off Points in Case. She said she had been reading me for weeks and wondering if it was the same me. After the blow job column, she knew. So yeah, I used to be a scumbag. In case you were wondering.

And finally, because this is one of those entries where I hit logic and fluidity into the upper deck, here’s a line I overheard at a minor league ball game in Lakeland, Florida a few months ago:

“Yeah. I did a pretty good job restoring that Cougar. Well, Me and Jesus.”


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