Early Saturday

Why I'm up at 8:00 on a Saturday morning after a very good night of drinking I don't know. But fuck.

My boy Genarlo Wilson should have been released from jail yesterday after doing two years for receiving a blow job from a 15-yr-old when he was 17. Talk about some crazy shit.

Unfortunately this story about young-uns reminds me of something that happened at the corner bar on Wednesday.

I think I’ve mentioned that the corner sports bar is attached to a Mexican restaurant. Lots of Mexican families go there for dinner. Wednesday there were quite a few little kids running around the lobby. After pitcher number two I carefully waded through the tykes and made my way to the bathroom. The bathroom was empty and I stepped up to a urinal. I heard the door open behind me but didn’t think anything of it. Halfway through doing my business I heard the door open again. And then the bathroom was filled with loud screaming. I turned around and saw some little kid about three feet tall running around the bathroom balling his eyes out. I pretty much froze right then. There I was in a ten by ten bathroom with my hand on my penis and a screaming kid running around behind me. I couldn’t do anything but stare straight ahead and finish my business. After what seemed like an eternity the kid’s dad came in to see what was wrong. Oh, and two of the kid’s brothers. I zipped up and turned around to them all huddling around the screaming kid. Turns out the kid got his finger pinched in the door. I made my way around them, washed my hands and left the bathroom.

That scared the shit out of me (well, at least the pee).

Oh, and the Renter still isn't talking to me.



Somebody found this site doing a Google search for "too fat" and "unbuttoned pants." Seriously, I have no response to this. But the posting they found had this in it: I started playing pool around 10:30. By 10:35 the back of the bar by the pool table smelled like, well, just a lot of stinky farts. It was bad, even for me. Walking around the pool table and lining up the next shot and BAM!, you’d run into this wall of stench that filled your nostrils and put stars in your eyes. The Renter refused to play pool with me and called me Mr. McNasty. I passed out from the fumes. Somebody peed on me.

God I used to write well.