Sometimes you show up to a party and immediately you know you've made a bad decision. You pass through the door, the record skips, stops, some asshole cues cricket sounds, and all the dudes playing Strip Poker pause and stare. You ask where the chicks are and they just say, "We wanted to get in a few practice rounds before they showed up." They trade glances and laugh that you'd ask such a stupid question, loser.
That's pretty much the same situation I stepped into a few weeks back. I had left the house drunk, so I'm not sure how or why I ended up at this particular party but I did, and maybe I'm naive but the fact that it was mostly dudes listening to Shania Twain should have set off a few alarms in my head. Anyways, remember Big Jeb? The jerk who poured a pitcher of beer over my head, sending me out of the bar in a fit of tears? Well, here's a little background on him for all you folks not in the know: everytime I've seen him at the bar he's worn a pair of overalls, no shirt underneath, pockets stuffed with all kinds of dirt. "Dirt?" you say.
It's not uncommon to pull up to some dive and see a semi-circle, Jeb at the center, and some poor shmoe in the middle with a mouthful of soil; all the while Big Jeb and his goons saying things like, "Hoo yeah, eat that dirt, boy!" or "If you like that mudpie, I can whip one up in my pants real quick for ya!" and other such nonsense. Now on special occassions Big Jeb might want to make you eat some fancy samples (San Antonio Sand, Pennsylvania Peat, or Missouri Mud for example) so he stuffs his pockets should the need arise.
Imagine my surprise when I find out I'm partying at HIS house and instead of wearing the usual outfit of overalls, he's got on a pair of Jackie O'Nasses glasses, super-tight jeans, a Culture Club tee, and ruby red lipstick under his handlebar moustache. Further imagine the look on everyone's face when Groff and I arrive, already drunk, hootin' and hollerin'.
You guessed it; the record skips, the crickets sound, and everyone stares. Big Jeb, thirty-five years old, says, "You fags trying to wake my parents? I oughta stuff your mouths with Mexican Moss, comin' in like that." To this we apologize, the dudes in the corner pawing each other's crotch call us queers and the music starts up again; Shania Twain replaced by Franky Goes To Hollywood.
Taking a cue from the song I relax, find a seat, and drink some beer. The passage of time has little effect on me when drunk, so I'm not sure how long it was until I spoke to Big Jeb again. He brought to everyone's attention that "Under Pressure" was playing, you know the Queen/David Bowie song. As you may already be aware, I'm a bit of a David Bowie fan so I commented on how I think that song is probably one of the worst I've heard him in, to which he delivered some earth shattering news, saying "Heh. David Bowie's gay!" only to laugh a little too loud, looking around to make sure he wasn't the only one. Then he sat on Rosco, the local drag queen's lap and tongue-kissed him. That was kind of weird, I mean, there was no way of telling whose lipstick was smearing who. It was time for a piss break. On my way to the bathroom I was stopped by another party-goer who made like he was going to squirt me with a water gun. Evidently this was some sort of inside joke, which would result in me being blackballed--or in the case of this party, blueballed--by everyone there. But as I was shitfaced, I really didn't give it much thought and went my way.
More beer was drank, more time passed until finally Big Jeb's parents woke up and kicked everyone out. Although the party really wasn't that fun I still feel bad for Big Jeb; his dad grounded him in front of everyone, causing him to run to his room crying. Can you say irony?

Dear Heather,

Though it's only been days

I feel I've known you forever

So it's fitting I ask

If you'd be willing to pass

Perhaps an hour (maybe two)

Not at the movies, nor at the zoo

But someplace pleasant

To find out more about you

And what better place

(Populated and safe)

For us to make a date

Than a temple of commerce

Where we can converse?

Without further adieu

I say to you, Heather,

LET'S GO TO WAL*MART TOGETHER.

We'll shop till we drop!

The savings won't stop!

How could you lose

When there's so much to choose?

Videos to watch, salve for your crotch; aisles of canned goods, sweatshirts with hoods; posters of pop stars, freshly wrapped Pop Tarts; supplies for school, Starter clothes (if you're cool); Wrangler Jeans sized from large to lean, video games, computerized machines; toys for your brother Tom, tampons, maxipads for mom; oodles of ramen noodles soup, guns--should there be a coup; shoes, pies,food for pets; booze, knives, cigarettes; stereos, tapes, and CD's (censored); pantyhose, grapes, and cream for dentures; turkey, bologna, ham at the deli; shampoos, soaps, deodorants, Smelly; Clorox, tinfoil, deep fried chicken; socks, motor oil, things for your kitchen; picture frames, board games, girly-girl necklaces; bras, bikinis, (support for your breastesses); movies, shows, DVD's for every collection, hours spent parusing their selection; photos, phones, food and more; holy shit Babe, what a bitchin store!
It's plain to see
How much this means to me
Please, if you will
Come along for the thrill
But hey, if not
It's cool, I guess
Looks like I'll slice up my chest
And cry salty tears
Over the girl
Who left me for dead
And decided
To shop K-Mart instead
Though, however,
I should never say never
So please, Heather,
LET'S GO TO WAL*MART TOGETHER



(I love you Heather. Always.)

Some broad tried making me feel foolish tonight. I purchased a sixer of High Life pounders along with some Pepto Bismol. Her response to this was a condescending, "Hmm, interesting combination."
Now, truth be told I have an acid reflux condition that I'm not too comfortable talking about (read: don't tell anyone I told you) so it's no surprise I found her comment a bit embarassing.
You know what I did? I got all up in her grill and was like, "Well Honey, I'll have you know my mother's at home right now shitting her brains out! Do you know about the stress it's caused me? Didn't think so. Let me tell ya something Sweetheart, when you gotta inspect your old lady's rump for worms, mites, and deer ticks the last thing you want is to stay sober. So excuuuuuuse me if I purchase two contradictory items. I wasn't aware everything I bought had to be within the realm of your understanding."
Oh man, you shoulda seen her face. She looked like somebody snuck up behind and gave her a massive wedgie. I knew my job there was done; I walked out with supreme confidence.

Let that be a lesson to all you wise-ass cashiers everywhere. . .
RICH IS ON THE PROWL.