I’m not sure exactly how we came to this point, but earlier today myself and the Lunchbox made a bet. The bet was that if he “runs a marathon” I give him the right to submit photographs of me to Bear Magazine. Yes…the Lunchbox running. Yes…the homosexual magazine. A lot of the details need to be figured out but the basis of the bet is in place.
Some of you don’t know who the Lunchbox is. I’ve written about him many times and even posted pictures. But that doesn’t seem like it’s enough. So here is a little video of him in his recent shape and finest moments.
Black People
Why the fuck can’t any of them properly pronounce the name “Dwight”? It’s one syllable folks…not two. Say it with me…Dwight. Not Da-wight…Dwight. This has been bothering me for a few weeks and really hindering my recent Sportscenter enjoyment.
Loves Horses; Seeks Career
I’m seriously considering adding this photo to my resume on various job search websites. I figure it could only help.
Chinamen
Some Chinaman called me about a career opportunity at PFS / Citigroup. I looked them up and found this shit. Mother fuckers think they can scam DR…pssh…too smart for that. Well…this time at least.
Even if this weren’t a scam…why would I want to work for a company that decides it’s best to let a man with no grasp of the English language call me?
The moral of the story is: Don’t answer your phone if you don’t know the number calling.
A Hockey Tale
It is no secret that I don’t like hockey. I just never really got it. Maybe it all goes back to the fact that I could never rollerblade backwards and, due to that, never really appreciated playing roller hockey on the mean streets of Schaumpton. Maybe it’s because I don’t care to follow a sport with so many foreign players. Maybe it’s because Wayne Gretzky stabbed my uncle in a knife fight in the Rexall Place parking lot in 1984. Who knows…either way, I’ve never shied away from expressing my thoughts publicly. Here is a tale to prove that.
It was the summer of 2004 and I was drinking…a lot. These were the days of crashing on the sofa of a party-flat on North Marshfield Avenue every weekend. Drinking all day, drinking all night…glory days. It was a Saturday night and a few of us were enjoying some post-dinner chardonnays at Glascott’s.
I was sitting at the bar and started a conversation with the gentlemen next to me. There were five of them and they were all decked out in Cubs jerseys and t-shirts. I mainly spoke to the two of them that were sitting nearest me. The conversation started out simple with, “You guys go to the game today?”, and quickly moved on to an in-depth conversation about baseball.
Following the natural course of the conversation, we moved on to the other sports franchises of Chicago…Bears, White Sox (briefly), and Bulls. The three of us were drinking heavily and had consumed a number of cocktails over the hour we were talking. Following the flow of conversation, one of them asked me, “What do you think about the Blackhawks?” Oh boy. Here we go.
I exploded into a five minute rant that, to paraphrase, sounded like this, “Fuck the Blackhawks. They fucking suck. They’ve sucked for ten years. They’re not even going to play next season. I hope the NHL never comes back and those fucking losers are out of work forever. Fuck them. “ Somewhere in my rant I was interrupted by the guy next to me who simply said, “Dude…we’re Blackhawks.” Fuck!
I instantly took out my credit card, turned to Byl standing at my left and said, “[Byl]…shots…now…10…seriously…now…problem…now…shots.” He looked at me, looked to my right, and sensed something was up. While waiting for Byl to order I started my apology, “Oh shit. I’m SOOOO sorry. Fuck. Dude.” I must have rambled for the next minute or two until the shots came. I apologized again, raised a shot, and toasted, “The Blackhawks.” Phew. Close one.
The next Monday at work I recapped the story and decided to look these guys up. One of the guys was Mark Bell. I recognized the other guy but have since forgotten his name.
All in all…I don’t like hockey and I’m not afraid to let the whole world know.
An Afternoon with The Boss
“Rosalita”
Posts
If it was Primerica, it may not have been a scam, but it was probably a job you don't want. Primerica is an insurance company. My dad used to sell term life insurance for a company that was bought by them. I have a feeling they are looking for people that will try to sell whole life insurace. Whole life is a life insurance policy and an investment. They are probably making a big push because their rate of return probably looks good compared to what the market has been doing. Whole life isn't a good deal, though. If you are going to get life insurace, get term and take the money you save by not buying whole and put it in an IRA. You will end up having a value somewhere between the whole life investment value and the death payout, and you don't have to die, which is a plus.
ReplyDeleteThat video was taken after a couple cocktails. I wanted to beer bong, and we didn't have a beer bong, so I found a big plastic tube, filled it with a pint glass (not 12 oz) and made marks on the tube. After that, I'd just fill the tube to the lines and bong it. I had about 10 of those in an hour before I projectile vomited. Later that night, I sang karaoke. That must have been ugly.
Holy Toledo!
ReplyDeleteThat is one hell of a bet if I do say so myself.
I bet four Lou Mal's pizzas, a chalupa, a baker's dozen of Krispy Kremes and 2 Whoppers that Lunchbox doesn't last 30 seconds on the treadmill.
Your mouth is watering, isn't it, LBox?
Go TEAM DR!
Love, Shalom, and Nappiness,
The Jew
What do you get if he doesn't run it...also does this have to be in a major marathon...and does he have to beat any black people? The black person thing is important...it shows he tried.
ReplyDelete