Voodoo Pete
Where the hell is it? I left it right here! Did the dog run off with it again? I think I would’ve felt that. What made me think it would be such a funny idea to have a voodoo doll of myself laying around? Christ, I’m such an idiot sometimes.
It’s not in the safe. It’s not in the refrigerator. I feel kinda sweaty…oven? Microwave? Nope. Why am I so wet? And what is that smell? Smells like…alcohol? Rubbing alcohol? Whiskey? Continue reading
Bah-dah-dah-dah!
“Hey, do you want to come over for the Bears game?”
“Absolutely!”
“Starts at noon! Bring chips!”
“Will do!”
12:00. Sunday, September 8th. Chicago. Southport & Wellington. Some guy’s apartment.
“You give Cutler time and he’s great!”
“The Bengals suck anyway!”
Halftime.
“Yikes. At least they’re still in it!”
“Lot of time left!”
“Robbie Gould’s career long field goal, you guys!”
“No one cares about the kicking game!” Continue reading
The author in his natural habitat
You don’t know how many times I’ve been sitting in Jimmy Buffett’s Margaritaville on the Navy Pier and heard tourists grousing “Oh man, they’ve only got a three man shotski!” or “Oh wait, they have a five man one too, but not two or four!” This is an epidemic of colossally drunk proportions that Jimmy Buffett is totally uninterested in remedying. So that’s where I jump in.
“Oy! You need a third on that shotski?” And next thing you know, I’ve got free booze and new friends! I usually travel with pals too, who also like that liquor, so if the tourists need a few assistants on their quest to get smashed, we’re good to go!
But this is just regular Saturday night behavior here. What I want to talk about is that sorrier instance – when it is required to bookend a tourist on a three-man shotski. Continue reading
Knowingly Undersold 