Crepes on the cross
Yesterday, we went to Pac Bell Park or AT&T Park or whatever the hell it’s called Park for the ball game for our staff retreat. Picture it: hot sun, big crowds, filthy bleachers, small seats, and screaming children. Plus me.
Not a pretty picture.
I downed two screwdrivers for a total of $20, but they were made with Smirnoff, the piss of vodkas, and the kind of alcohol that just sits in your placenta and makes you feel gross.
My division of three cut out relatively early and had a late lunch at Momo’s, then went home. I was so blasted from the sun and the crap drinks, that I ended up canceling my haircut appointment even though I desperately needed it, and took a nap. I awoke about an hour later and didn’t know where I was, and had forgotten that I had a new roommate. Disorienting indeed.
I do not recommend boxers at the gym. I was on the elliptical the other day and my junk was being roughhoused between the folds of fabric in a most unpleasant way.
That new Trojan Ecstasy commercial with the mime is a hoot. You know, where the gloved hands open the box, and mimes the actions of unwrapping and applying a condom. A brilliant piece of advertising. And if I was regularly getting a piece of ass, I’d so make the purchase.
