who dat? contest:



"i know!"


yesterday's results:



the late cubbies announcer
harry caray

first correct answer:
jackie

Vague-Ass

I am in a bit of a quandary. Last winter during a moment of hyper-enthusiasm (read: drunk), I volunteered to plan my friend Jeff’s bachelor party in Vegas.

Well, eight months later I haven’t done a damn thing and now it’s crunch time.

I’ve never been to a bachelor party, and the last place I’ve saw one depicted was in the film Very Bad Things, but I don’t have any cocaine, can’t afford a really nice hotel suite, and don’t know where to go about finding a Chinese stripper, so…

(By the way, man I hated that movie. I love dark stories, but darkness for "edginess" sake just makes me cringe. Plus I thought the cast, headed by Daniel Stern and Piven, sucked. Sucked. Sucked. And Peter Berg as director: suck. Everyone played smarmy. Stupid. And the ending: suck. Ass. Bad.)

I’ve been to Vegas a few times but the only sights I’ve ever seen are the look on the dealer’s face as she gets twenty for the 100^th time in a row, and the ATM machine gleefully dispensing cash to my greedy hands…

But of course we’ll gamble. I love gambling. I’m not very good at it (what makes me not very good is that I’m just good enough to think I actually have a chance at walking away with more money than I came in with), but I love to play. Blackjack is my game, but I’m like everyone else – I bet smartly for a while, and with luck actually win some money, but as the free drinks from the large-breasted waitresses keep coming, I start betting stupidly. Roulette is fun too, but at that point all the spinning is usually not a good thing.

So I wrote down a list of additional possible activities for the weekend:

GOLF: I know Jeff and some of the others like it, but man, do I hate golf. Yeah, I’m sure you’re saying, "you probably hate it because you suck at it." Well, yes! Absolutely correct. The first time I played I lost nine balls on one hole. I had blind 90 year-old men in wheelchairs laughing at my drives. I would just sit in the golf cart and drink beer while everyone else plays, but in the desert heat that would probably get old quickly. Plus the last time I was in a golf cart, Jeff took a turn too fast and I flew out and rolled down into a water trap. Golf to me seems like you’ve just given up on youth. When you admit you have absolutely no creativity or joie-de-vivre left, when the major topics of conversation in your crowd are Mutual Funds, school districts, and single malt liquors, you put on the old leather cleats. When I’m 60 I’d rather be swinging a bat at my toothless friend’s bouncing pitches than teeing off with Malcolm from Accounts Payable. Naw, screw golf.

SHOWS: In truth there are a few shows I’d like to see in Vegas. The Cirque show "O" is supposedly amazing – but it’s 100 bucks a ticket. I’d call my friend who’s on the Australian Cirque tour for some comps, but I can’t figure out the massive time difference – anything over 3 hours just confuses me. The musical acts usually suck. I can’t imagine 8 drunken guys watching Dionne Warwick or enjoying a Hootie and the Blowfish concert at the House of Blues. And seeing Sigfried and Roy would be a disaster, for many reasons. Although there is always the attractive possibility of one of the white tigers mauling Roy to death...

SWIMMING: Yeah, we could hang out and swim at the pool, but swimming with a bunch of guys is kinda, well, gay. Don’t you think?

POKER: We could play poker, but it seems kind of stupid to go all the way to Vegas to play nickel, dime, quarter poker. "You’re raising me 75 cents?! Dude, I’m not made of money!" And again, poker almost seems like an admission of age. And I’m against anything of the sort right now in my life. I’d rather we revert to high school antics and walk around residential areas stealing plants from front porches, egging houses, knocking over garbage cans, and puking in the gutter.

Fuck it, I guess I’ll just get him a couple whores.

Elsewhere…

…I’m kind of mad. I was cooking a late dinner after a productive writing session with Todd in which we spewed out 10 pages – a record. (Jay Mohr remains dead.) So while waiting for my pasta water to boil I turned to ABC and saw Regis. Oh Regis, you evil mastermind! The contestant on the show tonight was a mild-mannered Stephen King-looking guy with glasses and a really homely wife. But man, was this cat smart! He disposed of question after question with nerdy certainty. Even Regis’ New York Jew voodoo mindgames couldn’t rattle him. And he kept winning. He started with $1000 and kept going. He used his 50/50 to name the port from which the Titanic sailed. He called his senile-sounding Mom on a question about Ambassadors, (she proved no help). But he still aced the fucker. I kept expecting him to stop and walk, but he kept going. Finally, his downfall, his Million Dollar Question was: who won the first Grammy for hard rock/metal performance in 1989. And I knew the answer: Jethro Tull. I remember because it was such a farce. Homeboy had no idea and no lifelines left, so he walked with $500,000! But I’m not ashamed to admit it, when he answered his last one correctly, I jumped up and down clapping, my pasta quietly boiling over…

The Larry King Happy Corner.

Larry, asking only workman's wages, goes looking for a job, but he gets no offers. Just a come-on from the whores on 7th Avenue. Larry does declare, there were times when he was so lonesome he took some comfort there. No, Larry's not ashamed to admit he's frequented hookers. Not Larry. Because Larry's a stand-up-guy. Larry's a mensche. Do you know what a mensche is? Well, then look it up, goyem. Feh.


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