Thursday, November 25, 2010
Dog-Ass Holiday Thrills, Spills, Chills
6 a.m. — Wake up to "Imus" rerun, very unsatisfactory. TV news has substitute infobabes speculating breathlessly on whether or not that crazy little hedgehog-looking mofo in North Korea's gonna start a war. I hope he does; I'll volunteer to go there and do something, not that the Army is that desperate. I am that bored, though.
7 a.m. — Gym open for four hours today, so I get in early before the metal-benders and the bitter-divorcees-in-tights. The Hippity-Hop Lite satellite radio channel is on and Sweet Tap-Dancin' Jesus does it suck.
10 a.m. — Make it to local high school for annual grudge match against arch-rivals. Our guys are out of the post-season but a win would deny other team a playoff bid. Looks good — down 13-12 at half. But midway through the third quarter our guys collapse. Freezing out. Shoot breeze with acquaintances while silently wondering why I only have acquaintances and no friends.
1 p.m. — Eat bowl of Super Puke (I'm going to apply for a trademark) and watch Detroit stay close for a while. Fall asleep, miss all but final three minutes.
3:45 p.m. — Smoke one of these new cigars that came yesterday. An evil-looking, black, oily thing, emits more of a vapor than smoke.
4 p.m. — Assemble Official Dog-Ass Thanksgiving menu. Turkey "club" sandwich, meaning sliced turkey on toasted wheat with three pieces of bacon, cranberry sauce mixed with mayonnaise and some lettuce that was lurking in the bottom of the produce drawer. Half a sweet potato. Or is it a yam? Fuck if I know. And some sort of "Garden of Allah Spring Festive Delight Mix" veggie stuff out of a bag.
4:45 p.m. — Eat exciting ODAT meal.
5:30 p.m. — Fart.
7:30 p.m. — Drive to next town in vague hope that regular AA meeting is on. It isn't.
8 p.m. — Saints hang on to win; begin ironing big pile of shirts.