Now that we’ve moved on from October and find ourselves in a brand new month, thank you for indulging me and my short sweetness on Monday.
I wish that I could say that it was because I was cooked after a weekend of racing and raging, but that would be a fib. I was able to get out on a couple of lovely bicycle rides, but as you know, those are completely different than racing in that at the ride’s conclusion, I don’t run home to scan for photos on the interwebs of me doing it and then flood various platforms with said photos in order to let everyone know how much fun I had doing the thing…
Sadly, my raging schedule fell a little short as well, which is a pity, because currently I am for the first time in my life on the hunt for a hangover. Not the kind of hangover which is cured by a slice of cold pizza and a purple Vitamin Water, but the kind which leaves you fairly well incapacitated.
Like for example the one I had in Flagstaff after celebrating my something-secondth birthday with the likes of Ashley Heavymetal Cookiehead and Steve Garro, in which I single handedly caused what became known as ‘The Great Tequila Shortage of ’04’. The last thing I remember was browbeating a totally freaked out individual at Alpine Pizza and demanding that he enjoy my newly purchased Howdy Jesus statue, and later throwing up in Ashley’s yard;
Yes, as a matter of fact this is the statue in question.
I woke up the following day in such bad shape, after putting a copy of ‘Raising Arizona’ in the VCR, I was physically unable to extract myself from the futon to get the picture on the television, so there I laid, shaking and sweating and wishing for swift, sweet death while I listened to the entire movie and stared at a blue screen.
The reason I’m bucking so had for a case of the bottle flu is because the good, good people at Poler have set me up with what during my recent trip to Minneapolis West, we affectionately referred to as ‘The Hangover Sack’;
Eat your heart out Brian Vernor;
My plan was to be Brian for Halloween, but I got derailed when my false eyelashes and blue contacts accidentally got flushed down the toilet.
Now then.. In news of the sad, and sadder, many of you may remember when Urban Outfitters co-opted my pride and joy.
The wound had just begun to heal when DPow! forwarded me the following bit of horribleness, which ripped off the scab and re-inserted the dagger;
This Cardinals Fan’s Budweiser Sweater Just Landed On America’s Christmas List.
If the Bandit jersey ever lands, I expect that to be the next thing Urban Outfitters steals.
And speaking of which, on Monday, I desperately contacted a young woman named Donna who works for the company in New York that is responsible for the shipping of said garment, and she said they would be leaving their hands via FedEx that day, with of course for the exception of the extra larges which they expect to see today. (*On Wednesday, they said everything was actually leaving today and the XL’s are arriving on Friday. Wait.. What?) It is my hope that they turn those around as soon as they arrive and we can all put this entire fiasco behind us as we skip put the door into a crisp fall day and jump through the T-tops of our awaiting ’79 Trans Ams.
Now then, certainly if I could actually afford such a car, I would know that I have truly arrived. Secondarily, I take the fact that over the last six years, four women have dressed as me on various occasions. It makes me feel honored, however I suspect it might just be an underlying fantasy for women to want to know what it’s like to be an unattractive man;
Photo courtesy of Hurl
Photo courtesy of Francis Cebedo.
Photo courtesy of Pamela
Photo courtesy of me.
Lovely individuals, all of them, who clearly make for far better mes than I do.
One sign that I really have made it is when I can take each of these young women on a cruise with a water slide on it that we will all get on and go down at the same time, thereby creating a tear in the space time continuum which will result in everyone on earth being cursed with a single eyebrow and hairy arms.
Or possibly the result of the tear would just simply be that I finally enjoyed racing my bike again.
Either way, I plan to be cocooned within the safe confines of my Hangover Sack through the duration.