"I Lick My Chops and You're Tasting Good"

Hair Band Friday has been a bit saucy here in the office today. Shari and Kari have been performing various sex acts on each other using binder clips, highlighters, and redwell folders, a feat that I didn't know was possible until I actually saw it, all to the tune of three wicked songs: "Bad Girl" by Trixter, "Animal (Fuck Like a Beast)" by W.A.S.P., and "I Want You Both (With Me)" by Anvil. Earlier I found myself reviewing documents while standing on my desk buck naked -- save for my black dress socks, which were pulled up as high as they could go -- howling like a banshee and occasionally running in place, likely because of the mixture of coke and Red Bull and vodkas I have been ingesting since about 7:30 this morning. When I realized what I was doing, I quickly sat down, took a couple Xanax, doused myself with a bottle of merlot, and then started looking for my cockring and these Japanese twins that I thought I saw in here earlier. While I didn't find the twins (turns out what I thought were Japanese twins were just two wooden chairs), I did find some chick named Darci who made me forget about the twins because of her willingness to please me in the most nefarious of ways in exchange for simply letting her watch me write a memo.

My weekend is shaping up to be the popular independence-celebrating combination of booze, charred animal flesh, baseball, small missiles, and studying for the bar. Happy 230th birthday America! In honor of our fair land, I will leave you this weekend with a whole bunch of random shit to keep you entertained when fireworks are not enough. Sadly, I don't have any stories about 5-year-old transvestites to flip out about this week.

Links

• Here is a link to a recent hilarious Onion article entitled "Government To Defend Marriage from Dashing Reginald St. Croix, Esq." Thanks to Tradd "The Dude Abides" Fromme for sending me the link.
• For those of you who plan on being in, or simply traveling through, Will County, Illinois, heed this warning: Beware of bats! Apparently they're having a problem with rabid bats biting people. As if dealing with bats wasn't already a big enough pain in the ass. To be safe, vets are suggesting cloaking yourselves with garlic necklaces at all times and carrying wooden stakes, crosses, and silver bullets (the latter is just in case rabies turns bats into werewolves). My favorite part of the article is when Orville Hires, the 87-year-old man who got bit, is describing what he did after he got bit: "That thing bit hard. . . . Then I clubbed it, and it finally got off. And then I took a stick and batted it." "Batted" it, Orville? Touché. Thanks to my bat-loving, yet vampire-fearing, wife Jester for alerting me to this horrifying reality.

Videos (all thanks to Tron Wiescinski)

• A three- or four-year-old kid in a suit dancing better than I ever will.
• A classic moment from a British game show, full of double entendre, toilet humor, and the like. You may have seen this on Most Outrageous Game Show Moments.
• A short clip showing a ladder race, a completely safe sport that I assume is from the Netherlands or Wisconsin.
• Some moron high schooler, who I assume is Dutch or a Cheesehead, who let his friends shoot his chest up with paint balls. He got what he deserved.
• Some future date rapist with hair band hair, competing in karate's U.S. Open, which I assume took place in either Maastricht or Eau Claire.
• This clip is from an episode of Maury entitled "My Fear of Mustard and Pickles is Ruining My Life!" This type of behavior is typical of people from Holland or the Badger State, or those sodomized by Oscar the Grouch. If The Onion had a TV station -- and it should -- this is the type of thing that would be on. Maury can barely contain himself.
• Funny song and cartoon about how much of a badass George Washington was. Interestingly, George Washington neither liked windmills nor cheese curds.

Enjoy your long weekend, and dammit, be good to each other.

Midwestern Eavesdropping - 6/29/06

I told you this week was a little thin. Dammit, I expect better eavesdropping results next week, especially considering the long, drunken, holiday weekend.

Teenage girl (during discussion of strange eating habits): "My brother dips Oreos in garlic sauce."
--Chicago, Purple Line train
Eavesdropper: GMYH

Dude 1: "I just don't like it when her friends are around. I feel like I have to entertain everyone."
Dude 2: "Isn't it her party, so she has to entertain people, not you?"
Dude 1: "Yeah, but then I feel like I can't do what I want to be doing."
Dude 2: "What do you want to be doing, dude?"
Dude 1: "I want to be doing HER! ... Man, I'm gonna be on overheard in Chicago or some shit. That was loud."
--Chicago, Einstein Bagel, Rush & Walton
Eavesdropper: RobD

Twentysomething white female within earshot of female flight attendant with a very loud voice who was speaking over the plane's loudspeaker: "Hey Squawkbox, you don't need to use the microphone."
--ATA flight 4225 from NY-LaGuardia to Chicago-Midway just after landing in Chicago
Eavesdropper: GMYH

Mid-50s housewife, talking extremely loud on her cell phone, not giving a damn how loud or where she is: "I'll have to make sure Carol knows where to go."
Mid-20s college student, thumbing through a Maxim, practically yelling (and echoing the entire store's sentiments): "Is Carol hard of hearing?"
--Columbus, OH, Barnes & Noble
Eavesdropper: Ulltimate Lactose Hater

Lincoln Park Trixie talking loudly on cell phone to her mother, apparently not realizing that it's late June and not mid April: "Oh, and tell Daddy to give me a call. I think I need to file my tax return."
--Chicago, crowded Brown Line train
Eavesdropper: GMYH

As usual, we have a submission that isn't technically eavesdropping, but still worthy of inclusion. Here it is:
"I was on the Purple Line this morning at around 8:45, listening to some music, and saw a 40+ year old woman, wearing a conservative business suit, looking like she was probably fairly well off. She was also listening to music on her iPod and I just kind of glanced over to see if I could see what she was listening to, out of curiosity. I didn't see the exact name of the song, but I clearly saw that she was listening to the Geto Boys."
--Chicago, Purple Line train
Eavesdropper: Trashton
(I can only hope it was either "Damn It Feels Good to Be a Gangsta" or "Mind of a Lunatic," described by Wikipedia as a "graphic portrayal of rape, necrophilia, and murder")

Let's see if we can't pick it up a little bit for next week. Don't make me threaten castration. Despite how beautiful your singing voice may be as a result, no chick wants to hook up with a castrato. For the female GMYH readers, I shant threaten castration because God and/or Darwin already took care of that. Nor will I threaten an oophorectomy. Instead, I'll simply threaten to chop your legs off at the knees. Despite the fact that you're currently 6'7" and you think said chopping would make you a reasonable height, no dude wants to hook up with a chick with no feet. I don't want either of these horrible options to come to fruition, so please email your eavesdroppings to gmyhblog@yahoo.com. Save yourself. Save others. If nothing else, do it for the children.

Scorpio Pimps

There are two -- and only two -- items of interest in today's melange of otherwise worthless news.

First, completely unsurprisingly, scorpion venom cures brain cancer. Here's an excerpt from the article saying so:

About 17,000 U.S. residents suffer high-grade gliomas, a form of brain cancer that is usually fatal. A protein in venom from the yellow Israeli scorpion has been found to bind preferentially to the glioma cells, so scientists have created a synthetic version that does not by itself kill a patient. (emphasis added)

Good to hear that scientists have made the synthetic version of the venom non-deadly to patients. Otherwise, I think the whole exercise would be counterproductive. As a Scorpio, I always knew that I was more special than anyone who was of another Zodiac sign, and this just proves it because I can cure cancer. This is ironic, of course, because a Cancer can't. Sure, they can get cancer, but so can anyone with a boob or a prostate these days.

Second, rather than focusing his time on the real issues affecting the US, some overzealous Senator from Iowa (where, incidentally, there are no prostitutes) is seeking to tax pimps. It's actually kind of creative. The idea is that pimps are employers, and therefore, the pimps who don't file W-2s for each of their hos will violate the tax code, and a pimp will get 10 years in jail for each ho without a W-2. Aside from the obvious constitutional problems (I think I recently learned that pimps are a protected class under Equal Protection Clause analysis and, thus, giving them 10 years for each violation while not doing the same to other employers would raise serious constitutional problems), the logisitics of enforcing this thing would seem to outweigh any benefits. It's not like each pimp has a list of hos who work for him, and if some do, they're definitely getting rid of them now. It'll be interesting to see how those fat cats in Washington treat this, considering most of them rely on call girls to support their ever-burgeoning libidos and perverse sexual fantasies their wives refer to as "grody." Why don't we just legalize it, regulate it, and tax the hell out of it? That way, Sen. Grassley gets his precious "W-2 for each ho" rule, and we can all sleep better at night knowing not only that the BJ we just got won't leave us with the clap, but also that the boss of the undereducated but orally talented woman administering said BJ is going to be paying taxes on it. This way, EVERYBODY WINS.

Lemme Here a "Hoo-Ha Two Times Tuesday"

Well, it's Tuesday, which means that my life is slowing to a painful crawl, as the weekend is too far away for me to cope with rationally. Here are some random thoughts that are most likely wholly irrelevant to your life.

• Just a reminder to submit your hilarious eavesdroppings for inclusion in Thursday's Midwestern Eavesdropping. Email them to me at gmyhblog@yahoo.com. It's pretty thin right now.
• Thanks to Tron Wiescinski for sending me this video link of a band called Hurra Torpedo, which looks to be comprised of cunning mountain folk and Yahoo Serious in track suits, playing their rendition of Bonnie Tyler's transcendental hit "Total Eclipse of the Heart" with an electric guitar and various kitchen appliances. Yahoo appeared to be making some sort of borscht at the beginning of the video, but it must not have been to his liking. The video raises important questions about what music is, why music like this is unimportant in today's society, and why birth control is needed more tonight and needed more than ever.
• My constant need to engage in homicidal activity on a massive scale cannot be corrected.
• All of my wordly problems will be solved later tonight when they announce the Mega Millions numbers. Jessie and I bought not one, but two, tickets, nearly tripling our odds of winning.
• "Hoo-Ha"
• That's what I'm talkin' about!

Things I Did This Weekend

This weekend Jessie and I traveled to lovely Trumbull, Connecticut for my grandma's memorial service (she died a month ago or so, but I guess this is how my dad's parents wanted it to be done). Deciding that driving would be a bit cumbersome, we booked travel arrangements with an airline service. Our flight left Midway at 6:15am on Saturday, which meant that we had to wake up at 3:30am. I don't recommend waking up at 3:30am. It kills the circadian rhythm and freaks the hell out of your dog.

We flew into LaGuardia. On the flight there, we sat in the very back row of the plane, which wouldn't have been a big deal had I not had to sit next to a 400-pound man who I'm convinced was a member of the Russian mafia. His girth was such that putting the armrest between us in the down position was an impossibility. At least that meant that his love handles were constantly touching me the whole flight.

As soon as I stepped off the plane, I could see that New York City is indeed a melting pot! In the airport alone, I saw blacks, Jews, Italians, gays, and women. You just don't see that kind of thing here in the Midwest. Who knew it was possible to see all of them in one place? Only in New York.

We rented a car and drove to my grandma's house, arriving just in time to change and head over to the church for the memorial service. My dad gave a speech entitled "Little Dogs, Tough Broads, and Butterflies" that longwindedly and almost accurately described my grandma. Also in attendance were my brother, my 2 aunts and uncles from that side, and 3 out of my 4 cousins from that side.

After the memorial service, we all went back to the house, where the grandkids were all given various random items that my dad and my aunt had found in the house that they thought would be funny to give us, such as hats, golf crotch hooks aimed at keeping your head down through the swing, and cassette tapes. Then everyone went through the house and figured out what we all wanted. Little did I know that my decision to take the antique cast-iron meat grinder would come back to haunt me.

Sunday morning we woke up at 4:30 Eastern/3:30 Central so that we could get to LaGuardia in plenty of time for our 8am flight. All was going well as we were breezing down the Merritt Parkway until we came around a curve to see several cars at a dead stop behind a huge tree that had fallen across the entire southbound side of the road. There was no way anyone was getting around this thing. After impatiently waiting for about 5 minutes, we turned around and followed some cars that were doing what any good New Englander would have done in the situation: drive the wrong way down a highway to the last exit. We were driving in the right lane, with as much on the shoulder as possible. At one point, the cars in the right lane going the right direction failed to yield, so all of the cars going the wrong way had to veer into the left lane. Luckily the previous exit was only a couple miles back. So we got off and followed some livery van that Jessie was sure was taking us to Massachusetts via the many windy and poorly marked roads in Connecticut. Alas, the guy was just going down to Stamford to get on I-95, which was exactly what we needed to do. We got to LaGuardia about an hour before our flight.

A word to the wise for all of you travelers out there: despite what you may have heard, the Transportation Security Administration does NOT encourage you to travel with a cast-iron antique meat grinder. At LaGuardia, after my bags passed through the x-ray machine, one of the TSA employees said she had to look through my bag. While she's opening the bag, she asks, somewhat coyly, "Do you have a meat grinder in there?" I, of course, said "yes," since I did. "Okay," she says, "Well, I'm going to have to see about that." So she takes it to her supervisor, who apparently gave it the OK, although it was strongly suggested that I refrain from traveling with said meat grinder in the future (as if this was a normal traveling item -- who knows, maybe they thought I was Abe Froman, the Sausage King of Chicago).

We sat in the first row on the flight, and the entire flight was plagued by a flight attendant who couldn't speak to her fellow flight attendants in a six-inch voice and who wouldn't shut her damn trap for more than a couple seconds at a time. Thus, sleeping on the flight was relegated to short, sporadic mini-naps. REM was not achieved. Apparently this woman's godawful voice did not distract the pilots to the point of suicide because we arrived safely at 9:02am (Central).

After getting back to the hizzie, Jessie and I decided to take Harley on a walk and stop at Dunkin' Donuts at the corner of Halsted & Diversey, where I purchased my second DD breakfast sandwich of the day, tying my personal record. The floats for the Gay Pride Parade were lining up on Halsted, which was apparently more than Jessie could take, so we decided to head over to the parade. Some guys in my fraternity a couple years younger than me were having a "pre-pride-parade party," so we stopped by there for a drink, then all headed to the parade. Jester and I thought it was particularly appropriate for Harley, since we're certain she's a lesbian.

Having never been to any sort of gay pride event before (much less a parade), I wasn't sure what to expect, although I figured whatever it was would be fabulous. I learned that, if there's one thing gay people love, it's being gay. It was raining (not raining men) during the morning before the parade, and I'm sure many conservatives were gleefully awaiting the following headline on FoxNews or in the National Review: "God Rains on Gays' Parade." Without a doubt, it was the gayest parade I've ever been to.

A friend of one of the aformentioned guys who had the party was in town from Kansas, where they don't have gays or transvestites. He seemed to be particularly smitten with the parade. At one point, he had his picture taken with a tranny, hoisting it into his arms. And this was not the kind of tranny who you look at and say, "I'm not gay, but maybe after a few blueberry daiquiris I can overlook that Adam's apple." This was a fifty- or sixtysomething tranny in less-than-perfect shape with an obviously fake blond curly wig, who was wearing a black undergarment of some sort on the outside of her person, along with black fishnet stockings showing off its thick thighs. Nonetheless, it seemed all too natural for this kid from Kansas.

"I Ain't Got a Fever, Got a Permanent Disease, It'll Take More Than a Doctor to Prescribe a Remedy"

Hair Band Friday is reelin' and rockin' here in the office. I'm hammered off a combination of Stoli, PCP, and coke, all of which has only heightened my ability to do acute Lexis-Nexis research and write a memo about said research. Sandi, Lori, and Trudi are all fucked up on peyote, which has made for some pretty interesting pole dancing and some unbelievably weird conversations. Luckily for me, getting blown by three girls at once while doing online legal research doesn't involve a lot of talking. The music today has been off the chain. For instance, the last three songs have been "Bad Medicine" by Bon Jovi, "Girls Girls Girls" by Motley Crue, and "Shame Shame Shame" by Ratt. Meanwhile, Lexi, who just came back to the office after a one-month tour with another firm, is so happy to be back that she OD'd on speedballs, mumbling something about seeing her soul before passing out buck naked hunched over some bankers boxes full of documents clutching her vibrator, which is still on. I'd call 911 or something, but I'm -- ahem -- preoccupied, if you know what I mean. And if you don't know what I mean, then you need to experience Hair Band Friday for yourself. As the old Old Milwaukee commercial so aptly stated, "It doesn't get any better than this." Rock 'n' roll!

Here's one for the ages:

Just when you thought the state of Florida couldn't get any weirder, Ryan "Pissed Off and Rightfully So" Christoff sends me this article about a 5-year-old transgender kid (I only say "kid" because I'm not sure exactly what else to call shim -- from now on, instead of he, she, his, hers, him, her, or shim, when I'm referring to a gender pronoun, I'll go with "It"). Yes, it's true. Five-year-old Nicole Anderson (born Nicholas) of Broward County is a boy who dresses and carries Itself like a girl. Here's a precious little exchange from the article:

"What would you change about yourself?"
"Mm... my penis," Nicole murmurs.
"What would you do with it?" her mother asks.
"Um... cut it," Nicole replies, very softly.
"And what would you do with it then?" asks a surprised Lauren [the mother], who later says she's never before heard Nicole express dislike for her penis.
"I would hammer it," Nicole says.
"What?" Lauren says.
"Hammer it," Nicole insists more strongly.

. . . . .

Lauren was sitting at her computer working when 2-year-old Nicholas, who, like all the Anderson children, had a frank understanding of anatomy, came to her with a request: "I want the fairy princess to come and make my penis into a
vagina," he said.

I'm sorry, but what 2-year-old has a frank understanding of anatomy? What sick, twisted shit is going in the Anderson household? As if all this wasn't disturbing enough to make a hanging chad look like a hang nail, it seems that the parents of Nicholas/Nicole are not only content with, but are fully encouraging, Nicholas/Nicole's acting and dressing like a girl. "Experts . . . say the Andersons are the only family in the United States supporting a 5-year-old's choice to live as the opposite sex. This fall, the Andersons plan to enroll Nicole in a Broward County kindergarten class as a female. They are convinced that's the only way she'll be happy."

I'm certainly not meaning to come off as insensitive, but are you skullfucking me? FIVE YEARS OLD. What the hell are these parents thinking? I don't give two shits if they support the fact that It wants to play with Barbies and wear dresses. Fine. Most GLBTs will tell you that they knew about their preferences/feelings at a very young age. But thinking that allowing It to live life as a girl beginning at 5 seems to me to be a bit, oh -- how you say? -- shortsighted, naive, and completely idiotic. I'd like to think that I'm going to be a pretty understanding parent, but there comes a time when you have to draw a line in the sand and say, "Across this line, you do not!" Why can't the parents just encourage It to be a regular, normal gay kid? If at 12 or 13 It still wants to "cut" Its penis off and "hammer it," then by all means, bring on the hormones and let's give this thing a vagina (as if high school isn't awkward enough without having to explain that).

The parents seem to think the transition from the sanctity of their home -- where Nicole runs (and probably skips) free in dresses and such -- to public school is going to be a smooth one, apparently thinking that Florida is a bastion of acceptance. One of the sexologists in the article said that the teachers are often the only ones who know about it (implying that this is somewhat of a common occurrence). Does this kid not have any friends? No one who's going to say, "Hey Nick, why are you wearing a dress?" It does have older siblings who no doubt go to the same school and who no doubt have friends who new Nick before It became Nicole. What I'm getting at is that there is no way for It's little gender bending experiment to remain a secret.

So when It goes to school, does the teacher let It go to bathroom with the boys or the girls? Either way, it's Awkward City. In the girls' room, everyone is going to be asking why It's peeing standing up. In the boys' room, everyone's going to beat the shit out of It for wearing a dress. Pardon me for not thinking that other five-year-olds are going to understand and accept It with open arms.

And what about gym class and the good ol' Presidential Physical Fitness Tests. Will It be measured against the boys' standard or the girls' standard? And then when It starts to play sports in a few years, will It be on the girls team or the boys team? It would seem to me that "she" would have an unfair physical advantage if "she" was on the girls team. There's something very East German about all this.

And worse yet, suppose It keeps It's little secret long enough to where boys -- gulp -- start to like It. What grotesque, adolescent version of The Crying Game are these parents setting up for some unsuspecting preteen or teen boy? That poor boy is going to be ruined for life. You can't come back from that. Can you imagine how fucked up that boy would be? When he and his college buddies are sitting around talking about when they lost their virginity, and everyone has normal stories about backseats, prom nights, date rape, or Lookout Point, poor Tommy has to say, "Well, I went out with this, uh, girl named Nicole. My parents were out of town for the weekend, so she came over and we were getting hot and heavy. She was on top of me, and I was just about to take her shirt off. Then I felt something digging into my thigh. And no, it wasn't a banana in her pocket. She was, in fact, happy to see me," and the story would only digress from there. Or on the other hand, Tommy says, "Is it considered losing your virginity when what you thought was your girlfriend turns out to be a teenage she-male and it sodomizes you against your will, and the only thing covering up your uncontrollable sobbing is it screaming 'I knew you'd understand'?" Either way, the only way Tommy even comes close to being able to talk about it is after years of intense therapy. And I'm guessing Nicole's parents aren't going to be footing the bill because, after all, they thought it was perfectly fine to let little Nicholas wear a dress when he was 3.

Midwestern Eavesdropping - 6/22/06

Ask and ye shall receive. Thanks to the many of you who responded to my call to ears last week and sent in some pretty hilarious eavesdropping material.

Two children's librarians prepare for a storytime for one-year-olds:
Librarian #1: "Is a chicken a male hen?"
Librarian #2 (confused): "What? A chicken is a chicken. A male chicken is a rooster and a female chicken is a hen."
Librarian #1: "Oh. So then a chicken is a hen?"
Librarian #2: "Well, yes. But a rooster is also a chicken. They're all chickens. Chickens are a type of bird."
Librarian #1: "Okay. I just didn't want to confuse the kids."
--Greenwood, IN, Johnson County Public Library
Eavesdropper: B-Mart

Black woman on cell phone: "She's a fighter, that's what she is. My momma talks a lot of shit, but my aunt . . . my aunt, she talks a lot of shit but then she'll hit you."
--Chicago, Clark & Monroe
Eavesdropper: Ajira

Girl comes into nail salon totally frazzled and had clearly been crying:
Nail Lady (who speaks very little English): "Can I help you?"
Girl: "I just found out that I am pregnant and I lost my teaching job all in one day."
Nail Lady: "How can I help you?"
Girl: "Do you want to adopt my baby?"
Nail lady: "Excuse me?"
Girl: "Do you know of any teaching jobs?"
Nail lady: "Can I help you?"
Girl: "I will just take a manicure and a pedicure."
--Chicago, nail salon on Southport
Eavesdropper: AlyK

Friend telling a story to a group of people at a party:
Guy: "Then the guy told a hilarious Jewish joke, but he could do that because he was Jewish."
Girl listening in: "I wish I was Jewish."
--Chicago, party in Lincoln Park
Eavesdropper: Catfish

Large drunk male, pointing in face of petite girl, during a frank exchange of ideas: "Armani! Versace! Fuck Chanel!"
--Chicago, outside the Red Lion, Lincoln & Montana, 2:30am.
Eavesdropper: RobD

A group of twentysomethings attend a wedding and smell some strong perfume:
Guy: "What is that smell? Do you guys smell that?"
Girl: "Yeah, it smells like girl juice." (apparently thinking that "girl juice" was a reasonable synonym for perfume)
--Mishawaka, IN, First Presbyterian Church
Eavesdropper: way too many people at the wedding

Attractive young female, petite and obviously physically fit, addressing her equally attractive friend and strapping young male her friend is talking to:
Girl 1 (with a look of shock and awe on her face, yet smiling): "That guy over there just came up to me with the best pickup line I have ever heard."
Girl 2: "What did he say?"
Girl 1: "He walks up to me and says 'Hey Big Girl it's pretty obvious that you're pregnant, but you're still interested in going home with me right?'"
All: (laughter)
Girl 1: "I'm intrigued. I'm going to go talk to him some more."
--Milwaukee, McGillycuddys Irish Bar
Eavesdropper: Klank McT

Handyman: "HOLY MACKEREL. Yeah, I can fix that. It'll take some caulk."
Office manager: "It'll take some what?"
Handyman: "A tube of caulk to fill the crack. I'll be back."
Office manager: "Uh, where should I let you in?"
Handyman: "The back door is best. (sings) the back door maaannnnnn…"
--Chicago, law office, Washington & Wacker
Eavesdropper: RobD

A mid to late 20s hipster-type guy and an early-to-mid 20s hipster girl were waiting for their bus. There was an incoherent, quiet conversation between the two, and then:
Hipster guy (screaming in a serious manner): "I AM NOT USING COCAINE!"
--Chicago, bus stop at Michigan & Ohio
Eavesdropper: Trashton

Fortysomething Venezuelan man apologizing for calling a disliked Chicago sportswriter a "fag": "I'm not gonna back off from Jay. He's a piece of shit. (cough/laugh) You know what I mean? What I said about the -- what the name -- what -- the word I used, I should have said something different. A lot of people have hurt feelings, and I didn't mean it that way. . . . I don't wanna waste my time talking about Jay, you know. Jay's a piece of shit, and if he wanted to know, he should be here right now talking to me right now. He's a man enough, he should be here right now with you guys. . . . I should've used another word."
--Chicago, 35th & Shields
Eavesdropper: the entire sports-watching nation

Thanks again for the many contributions. Keep up the good work, and keep those ears open. As always, email what you hear to gmyhblog@yahoo.com to share your eavesdropping with the world.

Wednesday's Random Nonsense

I don't have much to write about today, so I'll give you these random news stories, videos, and links:

• News Story: The White Sox beat the St. Louis Cardinals last night with a football-esque score of 20-6. This is unbelievably ironic because the original Comiskey Park (which is now a very nice parking lot across the street from The Cell) was home to both the White Sox and the NFL's Chicago Cardinals (who moved to St. Louis, where they experienced the kind of failure with which only the Cincinnati Bengals are familiar and thus moved to Phoenix where they have fared no better). Anyway, I'm sure the irony wasn't lost on any of you either.
• News Story: In case you haven't heard, the Kansas City Royals have hired Tom Emanski to help teach them the fundamentals of baseball. Thanks to several people for passing this link on.
• Video: Thanks to Marc "Tron" Wiescinski for sending me the link to a video of a guy getting booked for drunk driving who was so hammered that he fell headfirst into the wall at the police station several times.
• News Story: "17 Beers a Day Keep Prostate Cancer Away." Yes, that is the real title of a legitimate article from MSNBC, finally giving me some ammo for when Jester gets all pissed that I'm on my eighth beer by noon. "Do you want me to get prostate cancer? I didn't think so. Now hand me another Schlitz." Again, thanks to Tron for this link and for legitimizing my worldview.
• Video: Jamie Kennedy's "Rollin' With Bob Saget" video. Funny stuff. My favorite line is when Saget says, "I gotta cock like a donkey, hard as a rock, and a trigger finger itchier than chicken pox." He truly is the "illest muthafucka in a cardigan sweater." Thanks Tron.
• Link: The Lincoln Park Chad Society. Apparently the Lincoln Park Chad is the male equivalent to the Lincoln Park Trixie that many of us have come to know and hate. The website is some good satire, and those who live on the North Side (or anywhere in Chicago) will especially appreciate it. Special thanks go out to Juliana "I Have No Idea Who You Are Or How You Stumbled Across My Blog, But I Thank You For Reading GMYH and Sending Me a Hilarious Link" Thewis for sending me the link.
• Link: The 2004 US Election Results Listed by Average State IQ. Scary. That's all I'm gonna say about it. Thanks again Tron.
• News Story: Thanks to Jesterio for this one. Apparently in British Columbia it's not out of the question to come home and find a bear eating oatmeal in your kitchen. And apparently it's also not out of the question for police encountering a bear eating oatmeal in a residential kitchen to just let the bear finish eating and leave on its own accord because "it didn't appear to be aggressive." Just a quick reminder to any law enforcement official out there who encounters a bear eating oatmeal in a kitchen and thinks it's cute, so, rather than doing anything, you think it's a good idea to just see how it pans out because the bear isn't acting aggressively: it's a fucking bear who can snap your feeble human spine in a half a second. All the bear has to do is say to himself, "Man, that oatmeal was a nice appetizer. Oh, what's this? A portly human who is stupid enough to think that my natural carnivorous instinct was somehow quelled by the Quaker Oats I was unable to cook due to a lack of opposable thumbs. I think I shall prey on him." Before you know it you're gasping for your last breaths of air, trying to fend off a hungry 500-pound bear while holding your intestines in the gaping wound that used to be the pristine mass of flesh between your armpit and your waist, all because you didn't think the bear appeared to be aggressive. You know when bears actually don't appear to be aggressive? When you shoot them with a tranquilizer to get them the fuck out of some woman's kitchen.
• News Story: My wife's extraordinary baking abilities are once again making waves in a town's legal community. I would often bring her baked goods into my firm in Dayton, and the reviews were so good that people actually believed me when I said that she was going to start her own bakery in the giant vacant storefront in the building nextdoor. Well, today she brought her world-famous "banana bread," as she calls it, into her office for the first time, and she has already received several requests for the recipe, which is kind of funny, considering one of the main ingredients is cocaine mixed with dog's blood.
• Reminder: Midwestern Eavesdropping is tomorrow. I've gotten a great response this week so far. Keep it up. Email any submissions to gmyhblog@yahoo.com.

Mishawak-of-Life

You ever find yourself drinking warm Budweiser (not Bud Light, Bud Diesel) cans at 3:30 in the morning in a hotel parking lot in Mishawaka, Indiana, talking to a complete stranger about the personalities associated with astrological signs while three mop-haired brothers with guitars play a song they wrote about their newlywed brother? Until this weekend, neither had I.

Saturday morning, Jesterio and I (through the help of a friendly young southern Italian couple who had apparently relocated to the Chicago area) ventured to the South Bend area for the wedding of Chris "Gemkeezi" Gemkow and Selina "Now a Gemkeezi" Wozniak, as the sign outside the ballroom accurately portrayed.

Other attendees included none other than Tony "T-Dawg" Zumpano, Megan "Chach" Zumpano, Ryan "The Dane" Knudsen, Carrie "Married to a Dane" Knudsen, Jon "J-Diza" Dudek, Tracy "Soon to be T-Diza" Larson, Adam "McLure" McClure, Katie "Wenger" Wegner, Sean "Reisenbeck" Riesenbeck, and Bridget "Girl Juice" Spanbauer (you'll have to wait for this Thursday's Midwestern Eavesdropping to find out what that means).

The night was a rousing success. Here are some of the highlights:

• Chris's brother Pat gave a mildly entertaining, yet mildly awkward, speech at the reception. At one point, he explained that he finally knew Chris and Selina (who had been going out for nearly a decade) were in love two weeks ago when he saw them dancing horribly and looking into each other's eyes, or something like that. Then moments later, he said that he had seen them look at each other like that "a million times since then." He also explained how he pawned Chris's golf clubs to pay his rent.
• At weddings I tend to go with whiskey because it makes me happy and spry, enhancing my dancing abilities tenfold and my talking abilities twentyfold. After boldly starting with a whiskey on the rocks, I learned that my survival depended on having a mixer in there, so I switched to Manhattans. The bartenders made them sweet, so at no time did I have the opportunity to ask, "What have I done to deserve this flat, flavorless Manhattan?"
• J-Diza electrified the crowd with his modern and refreshing take on hip hip dancing.
• Through reasonable self-control and limited provocation, I was able to refrain from projecting my hatred of Notre Dame onto anyone, at least as far as I know.
• Speaking of disgusting, I spit a mouthful of Manhattan all over Tony during a particularly provocative dance move in which he grabbed my tie and started gyrating his hips so as to simulate intercourse.
• The Knudsens mysteriously left the reception, returning 45 minutes later. The only possiblities we could come up with were: (1) baby making in the 95-degree parking lot, (2) a quick tennis match (probably won by Ryan), (3) some sort of Danish ritual sacrifice in the nearby pond, involving Legos and butter cookies, or (4) practicing wheelbarrow racing, just in case.
• At the post-prom hotel party, we took it to the parking lot. There were probably about 25 people drinking in lot when I went to bed around 3:30.
• I met two other members (aside from Chris) of the short-lived Missoula, Montana-based power quartet The Franklins.
• Chris's female cousins nearly got the party busted after a cabbie was supposed to take them to their hotel, but then just drove them around, brought them back to the party hotel, kicked them out, and called the cops on them for no apparent reason. No worries, though, because one of them talked to the cops and the cabbie was soon tasered to all hell. Or maybe he just left. I can't remember.
• I woke up a little bit before 10, still a might bit tipsy. It wasn't all bad, though, because whenever I wake up still drunk, I never get a hangover. At least this time I didn't have to go to work.
• On the drive home, we stopped at a McDonald's at 10:45am, assuming we were 15 minutes late for breakfast. A sense of immeasurable, yet hesitant, elation washed over me as I walked into McDonald's to see the breakfast menu still up. I asked the obviously stoned 40-year-old woman with less than the requisite number of teeth who somehow has a job if my eyes were deceiving me. Alas, they were not. Feeling haughty and a bit sexually excited by the whole situation, I ordered not one, but two, Sausage McMuffins with Egg. The woman, confused out of her mind, asked, "Number 3?" I said, "No, just the sandwich, but I want two of them," to which she replied, "So, two number 3s?" I soon realized that she had no idea how to spell "Sausage McMuffin with Egg," and playing this rudimentary word association game was the only way my order was going to be punched into the machine correctly, so I said, "Yes, two number 3s, but just the sandwich." With the help of a minor miracle, I actually did receive two Sausage McMuffins with Egg. After finishing both of them, I quietly wept for the remainder of the ride.

I'm at the Foreclosure Sale Just In Time to See the House Fly By

In case you haven't heard, our dear friend Dustin Diamond, who is better known around the world as Screech from Saved By The Bell, is in a bit of a pickle. It seems that his house in Port Washington, Wisconsin is going to be sold in a foreclosure sale if he doesn't come up with $250,000. In order to raise the money, he is selling t-shirts at www.getdshirts.com. $15 gets you a t-shirt that, on the front, has a picture of a disheveled Diamond holding up a sign that says "Save My House," and on the back, it says "I paid $15.00 to save Screeech's house." For $5 more, you can get an autographed t-shirt. I guess he has to put an extra "e" in Screech for copyright reasons. Poor Screech. This is worse than the time he had to wrestle Nedick while Slater had temporarily quit wrestling to find a career. Sadly, though, there's no Slater to bail him out this time just before he gets bodyslammed.

As a diehard SBTB fan (I watch it every morning before work), I am torn. On one hand, I want to help Screech even more than Jessie wanted to get into Stanford. On the other hand, I feel like he should be taught a lesson, not unlike those doled out by Miss Bliss. Also, Dustin Diamond isn't exactly the most sympathetic of the SBTB alumni. If it were Lark Voorhies, I'd buy a couple hundred shirts. And can't the Zack Attack reunite for a quick tour to raise the money? Or what about another couple celebrity boxing matches? He beat Horshack's ass that one time, so why not put him up against Urkle, Paul from The Wonder Years, or Janice from Head of the Class? I'd pay good money to see Screech knock Janice out.

The way I see it, we have 2 options:

1. Buy a t-shirt and actually try to help him.
2. Let the motherfucker burn and buy his house at the foreclosure sale. How cool would it be to say that you live in Screech's old house?

So who's with me? Who wants to go buy Screech's house?