The Absent-Minded Wanker
I should be working on my open love letter to casinos, strip clubs and gay bars. Soap helped me with some confused facts because I am usually too wasted to remember my times at those establishments.
Why did everyone at the blackjack table think I was a professional blackjack player? The mind is too blurred.
How many shots of Grey Goose did I order that night at the Penthouse Club? 6? 8? 10?? And what was the
Vlasic Dill Pickles
That’s code speak for “Classic Caustic.” I want to remind everyone that my grandfather was a Navajo Codetalker. That’s what he would tell us anyway. . . after his 15th can of Coors Light.
Hey! I got your pickle hanging!
Keep a few things in mind as you read this re-post:
1.) I am re-posting a retrospective and a re-post in my re-post. It’s the blogger equivalent of the “Triple Lindy.”
2.) I faked retirement just like Brett Favre.