This was cool . . .

Thriller – Too Cool. . .

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pZ9H5XPKi-o&feature=player_embedded

My new favorite food . . .

Guess what you get to make 30 minutes after making this can of beans? Hint – read the label. . .

Baby Gangstas in training

That’s right bitches . . . step off. We’re packing more than you think.

What did the Rancor say when he met two Ewoks?

Nom Nom Nom

Streaking the Belltower

College was a lot of fun. I must say that being in a fraternity made it even more so. The shenanigans landed me in more than one backseat of a police car, usually to make out with the lady cops. Not really, but it sounded good. That being said, the rest is absolutely true.

There was a time when I didn’t live in the fraternity house. Because of this lapse in judgement, I usually had to drive over when I wanted to hang out or go to a meeting or party or snake some brother’s new girlfriend. On one such night, I showed up at a very inopportune moment. A party was forming on the second floor of our attached apartments. I had a hard time
partying with my bros because alcohol has an invisible line. Once crossed, I would forget my own name, take my clothes off in public, embarrass girls I didn’t know by asking questions about their college experience thus far, such as “How many other girls have you made out with since starting school?” I tended to cross that invisible line with some consistency.

However, before I could make it upstairs, Chad had seen me driving up and came out to meet me. Chad: “Hey bro, we have to take the pledges streaking.” Me: “Thank god, I would hate to have gone upstairs and had a few drinks and get naked for no reason.” Chad: “You know the rules.”

For those who don’t know, my fraternity had passed a rule that we would not haze a pledge unless there were at least two brothers performing the same activities. Chad was proud of his manliness and liked to show it off to the other brothers about as frequently as I did, which was a lot (with enough alcohol).

Now, if you’ve read some of the other stories, you know I am a happily married straight man. But a little known statistic is that 1 in 5 fraternity members is homosexual. Chad knew this and liked being a tease. So, Chad drags me into the party room of our house, where I find no less than 10 pledges and 3 brothers all undressing, slapping hi fives, low fives, actually, I don’t want to think of all the things slapping in that room that evening (but I do it for you, the reader). As we greased each other up to prepare for the sprint to the bell tower on campus, I couldn’t help but feel . . . sober. I was really about to do this without any aid from alcohol whatsoever.

Now, if you really have an urge to run naked through city streets, probably a best practice not to scream so as not to be arrested. However, we were a bunch of drunken (except me . . . still wondering why) frat boys, running down the street, crossing Hillsborough Street to reach the campus, up the long hill to touch the bell tower to then turn and run back.

It happened to be drizzling that evening, which only added to the glistening buffet of young naked men. Most of the pledges were doing well making the sprint despite their inebriation. But, wouldn’t you know it, by the time we reached the bell tower, it was a down pour. And of course, the only sober person on this trek happened to slip on the grass on the way back, so I was left behind. Again, I still don’t know why I was sober.

Now, one detail I failed to mention is that there is a traffic light at the corner of Hillsborough St and Maiden Lane. I got up from the fall and saw that my frat brothers don’t believe in “no man left behind,” so what’s a sweaty, naked, strapping, dripping from rain water, shaking my wet hair in slow motion, boy to do? I got up, and ran as fast as I could. But to no avail, the light had turned red. There I am, standing on the corner, naked as the day my mom dropped her placenta. On the corner. Friday night on the busiest street in Raleigh.

Cars drove by and honked, swerved, or just plain stopped to gaze. I am sure I ended a few marriages that evening, and I still feel bad for any feelings those drivers may have had regarding their inadequacy. But at this point, there was nothing I could do but stand there. Two minutes went by, and finally the light changed.

At this point, I had nothing to be embarrassed about, so I just casually walked up the street to the house. No remorse, no regrets. There I was in my fullness. Take it in frat boys (and their girlfriends). I walked up the stairs to the apartments, where the party was still going on, grabbed a beer and sat on the couch, exhausted. Chad came up and we had a good laugh. I told him about slipping and the light change. We had a few good laughs, I got drunk (finally) and the night continued. About an hour went by, the party seemed to be going well, and our chapter president comes up the stairs.

Gravy (our chapter president):”Dude, y’all go streaking again?” Me:”Yeah, I got stuck at the light. How did you hear?” Gravy:”You’re still naked, bro.” Me:”So?” Gravy:”Uhh, nevermind. Can I get a beer?”

I miss college. Can’t wait to start grad school.

You don’t eat babies . . .

So I was working my way through college as a waiter. One night this couple was in my section and they had a baby that would just not stop crying (poor thing). The mother was doing her best while the father placed the order with a raised voice. Finally, the mother asked me to take the baby in the back and I would get a better tip, so I asked “How would you like the baby prepared?”

Travel introduces you to Culture

So, what part of the world is he from?

DFW has the best topless bars!!

They care about the quality of their product. Just look at the marketing . . .

A word on religion

Many know me to have a dry sense of humor and delivery when out in public. I play jokes that you wouldn’t know it’s a joke for several moments. But when you start talking about religion, best not to be too dry. People will take you seriously. While not quite as humorous as maybe “The Target Fart Story” or “The Poo Poo Prnak,” I found this conversation amusing.

So I was at a barbeque several days ago and had an experience. I was standing in the host’s kitchen, minding my drink, and sampling the appetizers. Delicious, by the way. I turned my head and found this lady giving me an odd look. I had spoken with her earlier in the evening, you know, casual conversation, but here she was again. I couldn’t tell if she was flirting or not, but my wife was giving her dagger eyes.

Lady says: “I can’t figure you out.” Me: “I’m not a math problem.” Patrick (host): “Hey, don’t you go to church with each other?”

Not knowing that I don’t go to church, Patrick is trying to make conversation. But I love to joke around with religion. Not that I am a “hater” as Goerge Bush would say, but I think anything taken so seriously that people will fight over who is more right can be entertaining.

Me: “No, we don’t go to church together.” Lady: “Do you go to Foundation? That’s where I go.” Now, here’s where I decide it’s time for fun. I mean, I had already said we don’t go to church together, so why should she ask me if I go to her church? You think I would know, being that I don’t go to church. Me: “I don’t have to go to church.” Lady: “Huh?” Patrick: “What do you mean you don’t have to go to church?” Me: “I’m Jewish.”

Now, before anyone gets offended, let me be clear: I am not a “hater.” This was just an uncensored moment where I wanted to have some fun with someone who didn’t know any better than to believe me. I mean, I know enogh about other religions to know when Bill O’Reilly is lying.

Patrick: “I didn’t know you were Jewish.” Me: “We’ve never been to the bathroom together.” Patrick has a befuddled look on his face. Lady: “You are not, I don’t believe you.” Me: “Seriously, but I’m not taking my pants off to prove it.” Lady: “Okay, so why don’t you have to go to church?” Me: “I’m one of the chosen people. I get a pass.” Lady: “I don’t know much about the Jewish. Like, what’s it like?” Me: “Well, really it’s a big party. We just finished celebrating Yom Kippur.” Lady: “What is that?” Me: “Yom was an Isreali poet in the ’60′s, and every year, we spend a week celebrating her birthday by reciting her poetry and eating heavy meals.” Lady: “Oh. Well, what’s with those small caps you all wear?” Me: “Well, that’s kind of hard for most people to understand. You see, the hebrews have a genetic condition where if we go bald, it starts at the top of the head. When we were wandering through the desert, we didn’t want to get sunburned. The tradition kind of stuck, and now it’s a sign of wisdom as opposed to a cure for the malady of baldness.” I figured if I threw in a couple of big words, like “malady” (hope I’m spelling it right), I would come off more beleivable. Lady: “That is so wierd. I had always wondered.” I am laughing so hard on the inside. I mean, she was buying all of this. Patrick had a confused look on his face, but he seemed to be nodding. This is what we get for a lack of education about the rest of the world. Here is this lady in her 30′s . . . 30′s . . . I can’t capslock 30 to drive the point home. Has no idea I’m joking with her. Is this sad or funny? I don’t know, but like I always say “If it weren’t for stupid people, I couldn’t be successful.” (and for those of you who don’t know, Yom Kippur is the holy of holy days. . . seriously, learn about other cultures, stop being so ignorant, and maybe we could stop killing each other)

My wife had been listening all along and knew that me talking religion would lead to no good, so she intervened and said she needed me. Then she took me into a bedroom in our host’s house and wanted to make out because she wanted to feel young again. I love you, honey.