Me- "Why is polygamy illegal? I mean it seems reasonable enough, especially if it goes both ways. I'm sure there are plenty of women out there who'd enjoy having many husbands. Like the Husband With The Good Job, and the Husband Who's Handy 'Round The House, and The Gay Husband That I Actually Talk To and The Husband That Totally Knows How To Lay The Pipe."

He- "Yeah I guess that makes senses. I mean I'd like a harem of many wives."

Me- "What about you, would you like many husbands?"

She- "Pssht. Yeah. Then maybe my house would get fixed."

He- "You know I would refer to my harem of many wives as my 'Swiss Army Wife.'"

Me- "Did you just think of that?"

He- "Yeah, just now."

Me- "That was pretty good."

He- "Thanks."

Me- "Though I think 'Swiss Army Wife' implies one very versatile wife, and not many wives of different skills. You'd have to call them your Swiss Army Wives."

He- "Yeah but that doesn't sound as good."

Me- "True, but you know what I'm saying?"

He- "I do, but, c'mon. Just let me have this one."

Me- "Yeah, sorry man. My bad."

My friend, Michelle, is concerned that her husband, Marc, isn't getting out enough. She suggests to my friend Ben that the next time we have a night out we invite Marc along. The plan is we head over to their house for dinner, have a few beers to loosen up, and then head downtown for a fun little night out. Ben and I go over and have a couple brats and brews.

9:35. 5 beers. Feeling groovy.

We move the shindig downtown. At the Metro Coffee House I, John Woo style, order four beers; two for myself, two for Marc. Over the next half-hour or so Marc tells me that he's always been a career wingman. I tell him about my New Year's resolution to chase more tail this year. He's there for me, however Michelle had told him that whereas I'm looking for more of the The One, Ben was out to score. He says we should concentrate on Ben this evening. I agree.

11:20. 2 beers. Maintenance buzz.

We are walking down the street past Ye Olde Renaissance Pub and Gifts. Ben hates this place. I'm an asshole so we go in. A lone musician is plucking the best of the late nineties out of his acoustic guitar against a backdrop pulled straight out of a LARPer's basement. I notice that Guinness is on special, $6 for a 32-ounce mug. I order two. At some point our friend Matt shows up, he points out that we are in a chick-repellent zone. He says he knows a place.

12:48. 64-ounces of Guinness. Jaigermeister shot. Why am I in a car?

Disco lights and desperation. Marc hands me a vodka and Red Bull. Explains that now is my time, suggests a pick-up line- "What color are your nipples?" Never fails. Last call is approaching and the pickings are slim, he says I may have to duke it out but no worries- "If you're rolling up on a girl and her man wants to start a fight, just scream out 'KHAAAAAANNN!!!" and I'll be on it. I'll punch that dude in the cock." This seems reasonable.

2:23. Whatever's been put in front of me + vodka and Red Bull.

Vodka and Red Bull is liquid anger. It unlocks my inner Scottish soccer hooligan. It is my red kryptonite. It's hazy from here on out, but I remember peeing on someone's car. I remember being in a drive-through and loudly demanding a bucket of snatch. I remember being in South Carolina looking for "The Spot" where last call is just a sad joke.

3:42. Tall glass of water. Lucid.

IHOP. We're pilfering the uneaten food of the empty tables around us. There are kids starving in Africa for God's sake. Michelle comes in to take Marc home. We haven't quite pulled off the Guys Gone Mild night expected of us and we think that he might be in trouble. I get dropped off at home and hit the bed.

I wonder if Marc's still allowed to play with us.

That Looks Familiar...




Biting on ELP? Nay Euphonic Dissonance, we STARTED that game.


Via Wayne.

I was just thinking of this-

Take your car payment.
Add your monthly gas bill.
And your insurance.
Divide by how many hours you drive per month.

For example:

(211 + 50 +87) / 30 = 11.6

So it costs me $11.60 an hour to own and operate my motorcycle.* Three years and $12,528 later, I will have made my final payment and be the proud owner of a motorcycle that I could probably sell for $2,600. On the plus side my operating costs will be around $2 an hour. In the meantime I could ride twice as much (or half as fast) and my hourly rate plummets.

Just something that's been running through my mind for the last 10 minutes.

*massive over-simplification