Wednesday, May 20, 2015

Mexican Bathroom

                I think it’s time for a fantastic drunken story about someone other than me, don’t you?  Well, I hope you agree because it’s happening and I would really like you to read it.  

This story takes place a few years ago and starts out the morning after a party that I had thrown for my birthday (yes, I threw my own birthday party because there are things wrong with me).    A handful of buddies had spent the night passed out in my apartment, but in the interest of not putting someone’s name all over the internet with an embarrassing story, I’ll be changing some names (see if you can guess which ones!).  So upon waking up the next day Knuckles, Double D, Geoff, Bob and myself were all wandering around my apartment in a hung-over daze.  While most of us were keen to drink water and soda (or basically anything that wasn’t alcohol), Bob was not finished with his partying from the night before.  He went to my fridge, discovered there was still a good number of Jell-O shots left and asked how many he could have for $10.  Being the shrewd businessman that I am, I took the $10 and told him to have at it.  This may have been the wrong decision on my part because within the next hour he had eaten about 20 of them (but hey, $10!).

                It was about this time we decided that we needed to feed the hangovers we were suffering from.  I don’t know if we had explicitly decided where we were going or if we just picked a direction and started trudging through the snow, but we ended up at the Mexican restaurant in town.  I should mention a couple of things here.  First off, we had gotten about a foot and a half of snow the night before, so instead of trying to drive through it we walked the few blocks to the restaurant.  Secondly, it was only about 1 PM at this point.  And third, the Jell-O shots were starting to hit Bob on the walk as he got more and more animated and less coherent.  By the time we were seated, the cumulative effect of the shots was hitting Bob like a brick wall.  This was not a deterrent for us.

                Once seated, Geoff and Double D decided it would be hilarious to convince Bob that he should order a 64oz margarita (to be fair, it was pretty hilarious).   Then, Bob could not remember if he had ordered his food or not (he hadn’t), but we told him that he had already eaten it.  The confusion over whether or not he had actually eaten nearly caused Bob to have an existential crisis, luckily for him the server came around to take our orders and put to rest his doubts.   Food was ordered and Bob clumsily sipped on his margarita, dumping a good portion of it on the table in the process.   We were amused, the restaurant staff not so much.  By the time the food was brought, about a third of Bob’s margarita was either in his stomach or on the table and his eyes were no longer open.  Almost as soon as the waitress walked away after setting down our plates, Bob face-planted into his refried beans.  We turned his head to make sure he could breath and we continued eating (we're all good friends).

                Bob’s slumber atop his pillow of beans didn’t last long.  A few minutes after he passed out, as the rest of us were happily pigging out, he sat straight upright with a look of terror on his face.  “Bob, are you alright?”  He furiously shook his head no and started to shamble his way out of the booth.  I jumped to my feet and grabbed his arm as he moved towards the bathroom doing what can best be described as an action roll.  On the way to the bathroom our waitress ran up to me with a look of concern, asking if everything was alright.  I assured her that this entirely normal situation was completely under control and continued moving through the restaurant with Bob alternating between walking and swimming.

                The bathroom was (appropriately) where the situation turned into a real mess.  Bob barged into the stall only to flop down into the corner and propped himself up against the wall, where he began to just make faces at me.  This continued for a few minutes before he groggily declared that he had to pee, stood up, unzipped his pants and started pissing into the corner next to the toilet.  I grabbed his shoulders and tried to pivot his body towards the toilet, but he just kept turning right past until he was peeing in the corner on the other side of the toilet.  I then decided that it would be in everyone’s best interest if I just held his shoulders and aimed him towards the toilet bowl until he was done.    With his bladder empty, he now proceeded to struggle in his endeavor to put away his dick and zip up his pants.  I’m not that good of a friend.  I turned away and let him struggle with that until he finally accomplished it on his own.  Perhaps all of the excitement had worn him out, because he walked out of the stall, leaned against the bathroom wall and let gravity take its course as he slid further and further down the wall until he hit the tile floor and passed out.   On the floor. In a Mexican bathroom.

                As I’m standing there in the bathroom wondering what the hell I’m going to do with this drunken pile of man, Geoff walks into the bathroom to check on things.  There was no containing his laughter at the sight of Bob passed out on the floor.  But I enlist his help to go back to our table and get all the food boxed up so we can get the hell out of there.  I also have him send in Double D to help me carry Bob out of there.  There is seemingly nothing in the world that is waking Bob up.  We shake him, shout at him, Double D at one point sits on top of him and bounces (that part was especially weird) and I try splashing water on his face.  None of this works.  Eventually, we just each grab an arm and lift him up, resigned to the fact that we’re just going to have to carry him out of there.  That’s when Bob wakes up, looks around and asks “Why am I in a bathroom?”   There’s no time to explain this, we drag him out of the bathroom and out of the restaurant into the snow.

                Knuckles and Geoff joined us outside after grabbing all the food off the table, paying our tabs and making nice with the appalled restaurant staff.   Remember the foot and a half of snow that I mentioned earlier?  It’s really fucking difficult to drag your barely functioning friend through that much snow.   We looked like a deleted scene from Weekend At Bernie’s (how’s that for a reference?).

This is pretty spot-on.

                As we were dragging Bob back to my apartment through the snow, he suddenly had a moment of clarity, and the short exchange that happened will forever be burned into my memory.

Bob: “Wait. My food.  I need to pay for it.”
Knuckles: “It’s fine. I paid for it.”
Bob: “………..Thanks, Obama.”


Thursday, May 7, 2015

Mouse Story

                I usually don’t participate in Throwback Thursdays, but today I’m going to make an exception and offer a story that happened a little over 10 years ago (actually, I was just struggling with an intro and am using Throwback Thursday as an excuse).  As the title subtly implies, this story involves a mouse (I’m a master of my craft).   I’m not sure how many of you have had a run-in with a mouse before, but this was my first.  And I’d like to think that it set the bar pretty high for any future encounters I may have.

                My friends Adam, Kyle and I were all hanging out in Kyle’s basement like we did pretty much every day as teenagers because video games were fun, girls were scary and the sun was bright (our lives haven’t changed much).   The set-up in the basement had a futon against the back wall, the TV directly across from it, a couch on the right side and a mattress on the floor in the middle of all of this.   There were usually blankets and pillows strewn everywhere, controller cords scattered across the floor and the basement smelled distinctly of B.O. and stale popcorn, but we were damn proud of it (the basement, not the B.O.; it was still a confusing time in all of our lives).

                After staying up all night staring at the TV screen, eating shitty microwave snacks and drinking more soda than any human being should, we were all pretty much in a zombie-like state.  Kyle had meandered over to the computer to talk to girls on MSN Messenger (yes, this story is that old and no he was not successful).   Adam was firmly entrenched on the futon playing Grand Theft Auto: Vice City.  I used this opportunity to pass out on the mattress for a little bit before continuing the marathon of unhealthy, sedentary activities (this is why childhood obesity is a problem, folks). 

                After a couple hours of snoozing, I wake up to the sight of Adam and Kyle patrolling the basement with airsoft pistols and room-sweeping tactics that they had lifted straight out of 80’s action movies.  Kyle looks at me and says, “Dude, you may wanna get up.”
“What? Why? What happened?” I groggily reply.
“A mouse dropped down from one of the ceiling tiles.  We haven’t found it yet.”

                And with that, I was on my feet and patrolling the basement with them.  We didn’t have any more airsoft pistols so I frantically looked around the room for anything else I could use as a weapon.  What I finally settled on was a bubble sword (to this day, I’m not convinced that this was the wrong choice).
I call it Mouse’s Bane

                 We stalked around the room in a formation best described as “The Idiot Parade,” overturning furniture, tossing blankets and shining a flashlight into every dark corner of the room.  Despite our obvious organization, keen senses and natural hunting ability, we didn’t turn up any trace of the mouse.   Eventually, it was decided that we needed to set some traps.  Unfortunately, we didn’t have any traps and would need to go buy some.  The three of us spent a bit of time arguing over the best way to proceed (because we’re dumb).  We decided that Adam and I would go to WalMart to buy supplies and Kyle would stay there and keep an eye out for the mouse. 

     As I said, this was quite some time ago, before any of us had our licenses, so Adam and set out to walk the 3 miles to the store.  We didn’t last very long; it was late, it was dark outside and we had to keep hiding in bushes because we were out past curfew (cops in our town don’t have much to do besides bust kids for being out too late).   We got about halfway there and gave up, turning around to head back home.  Then we got about a third of the way home and gave up on that too, calling Kyle’s mom to come pick us up from a gas station (did I mention that we’re dumb?).

                Upon our return, Kyle reported that he hadn’t seen any signs of the mouse while we were gone (either because the mouse stayed hidden or because he was too absorbed in playing Metal Gear Solid 2 to notice).   We all decided to just go to bed.   Thinking I was being clever, I told Adam that I’d let him have the mattress for the night and I’d take the couch (Kyle always got the futon).  I told him it was because I got to sleep on the nice mattress earlier, so I’d take the lumpy couch for the night to make sure things were fair.  My actual reasoning was because I figured if the mouse bothered anyone during the night it would be the guy closest to the floor, so I wanted to be on higher ground.  Adam fell for my ploy and happily took the mattress while I flopped down on the couch (did I mention that we’re really dumb?).

                I remember my dream that night quite vividly: I was moving around some electronics and video game systems when one of the cords dragged across my foot.   That was when I woke up and realized that something had actually moved across my foot, and that it was now moving up my pant leg.  I’m not sure if any of you have woken up to a mouse running up your pants, but I think I’m safe in saying that no matter how stoic you may be this is something that will shake you a little bit.  And when I say “it will shake you a little bit” I mean “You will bolt awake, kick off the covers and jump up screaming ‘HOLY SHIT THERE’S A MOUSE IN MY PANTS!’”   That is exactly what I did.  I kicked off my blanket as hard as I could, then watched as the little brown rodent sailed through the air, over Adam’s head and landed on the other side of the mattress before scampering away. 

                For whatever reason, being awakened by their friend jumping up and down on the couch shouting “THERE WAS A MOUSE IN MY PANTS” the very same night that they had previously been hunting a mouse didn’t seem to really get either Kyle or Adam motivated.  They both groggily rolled over, cussed me out and told me to go back to sleep.  Maybe it just took a minute for it to register in their brains, or maybe it was the fact that I absolutely refused stop shouting and let them fall back asleep (who knows?), but they eventually got up and joined in my panic.  We gathered up our pillows and blankets, shook them out just to be safe, and went upstairs to sleep.

                We went back out for traps the next day, this time in a car.  And eventually the mouse was caught.  But that’s the story of the mouse that nearly got to 2nd base with me.


Friday, May 1, 2015

April Joke Round-Up

                Here we are at the beginning of a new month and, as such, here is another round up of my jokes for the month.  I’m sure if you try hard enough (or not at all) you’ll see a pattern in my joke-writing somewhere.

April is Alcohol Awareness month. Good news, I'm already aware of it.

Realistically, I should use April Fool's Day to be really somber and subdued since I spend the rest of the year actively trying to not be taken seriously.

I was going to make an April Fool's joke today about me having a girlfriend, but I didn't think that was believable enough to actually trick anyone

If I have one flaw it's that I've severely underestimated my number of flaws.

If I had a bbq restaurant I would name it "Dry Rubs & Wet Meats"
Also a good name for a strip club.

If there was a book about my life it would be called "50 Shades of Fuckin' Up"

There's been a bunch of joke emails being sent around the office today. In one of them somebody sent a picture of a really obese woman wearing lingerie and bunny ears with the caption "This is Ryan's girlfriend."
I replied to all saying "Don't be ridiculous, everyone knows this is the only woman in my life" followed by a picture of a hand.

I'm reading an article about failed product lines and one in particular sticks out to me: in 1979 Clairol released their Touch of Yogurt Shampoo, which failed in part because consumers got confused and tried to eat it, making them sick.
How does that even happen? Why were these people expecting to find snacks in the shampoo aisle? And please tell me they had the same confusion with Lemon Fresh Bleach

Since I have to work today I thought I would take some time to set up an Easter egg hunt for the office tomorrow. I didn't have any eggs so I've been hiding everyone's stapler.

I saw an article online titled "The 9 Best Times to Have Sex." Whoever wrote that article was working extra hard, because I could only think of two: daytime and nighttime.

My motivational desk picture for this week. #‎ItsAllInTheReflexes

April 7th is National Beer Day. I feel like I should take today and tomorrow off work for religious reasons.

I think one of the biggest things that motivates me each day is the knowledge that there are still so many women that haven't had the chance to shoot me down yet.

I'm sitting at my desk today singing Backstreet Boys songs. I don't really care how the rest of the office feels about this because I Want It That Way.

I don't think my windshield wipers are fast enough. They have a "downpour" setting but I needed them to be on "deluge" speed this morning.

Why is drinking wine and having wine-themed decorations all over your house classy, but when I drink whiskey in my apartment full of beer signs I'm a drunk?

Pajama days at work/school must be really awkward for people that sleep naked.


I successfully made it out of my room and to work this morning. It's fortunate because there's no way anyone would have believed that I was late to work because I was locked in my hotel room.

This is what the "popcorn" button on the break room microwave does. Lesson learned.

This week's desk picture is to help me find balance. #‎WaxOnWaxOff #‎Banzai

Last night I had a dream that I was in a trivia contest and doing really well at it.
Now that I'm awake, I'm not sure if I was actually getting the questions right or if my sub-conscious was just like "Eh, screw it. He needs a win to build up his self-esteem."

I had one of my customers send me an email this morning addressing me as "Ryan and Rick." I'm considering responding to him twice and just signing my emails with different names

I play volleyball with a group of people from work, and every week I send out a fake sports report to the office about our games. Last night our team played a team named Poop. So today's sports report that I sent out was just an unapologetic string of poop jokes. I'm an adult.

I bought flowers online once like over a year ago. And now I keep getting emails from 1-800-FLOWERS reminding me that I have nobody to send flowers to.
"Hey, you haven't sent any flowers in a while!"
"Thanks, assholes. I know."

I have upped my desk accessory game to a 2nd picture now.

I woke up this morning to the sound of my microwave beeping; alerting that food had been left in it after the timer went off. I opened it up and found a cold bag of popcorn that my roommate had made the night before and forgotten about. He does not have a long enough attention span to wait two and a half minutes for popcorn. #‎Knuckles

Today is my first day off after working 27 consecutive days. Not sure what I'll do with my free time yet, but it will probably not involve pants.

My desk picture this week reminds me of the importance of teamwork, good leadership and soft hands. #‎ConcentrationNotStrength #‎DucksFlyTogether

I read an article about "The 9 Foods Most Likely to Make You Sick." The list was: beef, chicken, pork, seafood, eggs, hard-skinned fruits & vegetables, soft-skinned fruits & vegetables, leafy greens, and dairy products.
So if you don't want to get sick, stick with a strict diet of bread and alcohol.

My office is having a Biggest Loser competition. I am kind of worried that I will be named the winner and it will have nothing to do with my weight.

A group of students at a Pennsylvania high school had an "Anti-Gay Day" where they all wore matching flannel shirts and hung hateful posters on other students' lockers.
But really, wearing matching outfits and decorating lockers seems kinda gay....

I made this motivational poster today. I like it.

In all seriousness, plan ahead. Don't be the guy who poops at the bar.

Kyle: "Do you ever wonder if giraffes are more susceptible to lightning strikes because they're so tall?"
Me: "Sometimes I wonder why we're friends.

I don't know if anything in life has ever made me more depressed than watching people line dance to Footloose.

My desk picture this week reminds me that when you're feeling overwhelmed you just gotta dig deep, turn your hat around and go #‎OverTheTop

Currently reading "9 Scientifically Verified Ways To Appear More Attractive." Watch out ladies, I'm about to science you into thinking I'm hot.

Some people get way too excited about letting everyone on Facebook know where they are and what they're doing. Sometimes it's okay not to share your entire life with the internet.
"Working for that money! - at Work"
"Hitting up that dollar menu! - at McDonald's"
"Washing my sheets because I wet the bed again! - at Shady Laundromat"
"Visiting my parole officer! - at Probably Not The Lowest Point Of My Life"

If at any point in my life somebody could teach me to use chopsticks I would be extremely grateful because I'm probably going to poke my eye out.
Also, because I just want to have an experience like in the movies where people stay late at work eating Chinese takeout with a side of sexual tension.

                I like these Round-Up posts.  It’s basically just me rehashing things I’ve already done!