@Peezus Most of his score at will points come off a fast break against 6'3 or smaller guards. If you really think Ben Simmons is going to be scoring 20ppg like LeBron James, your crazy. I love the way he plays, sits by the free throw making plays for others. His defense is incredible. And his rebounding skills is great. But what I'm saying is if he can't knock down shots in the NBA, he will not be a franchise player.
My friend and forum member Body Burners has told me that it's his life goal to make it on Jerks of the Week. Every time I see him, he asks me, "What do I have to do right now to make it onto Jerks of the Week?" I mentioned this in my Halloween Party entry when I discussed Pot Head.
Sometimes Body Burners will give me a hypothetical. For instance, he was driving me once somewhere, and he said, "Walt, would I be a Jerk of the Week if I told you to get out of my car right now, and I just abandoned you on the side of the road?"
Body Burners was actually pretty close when he started tossing around my Tootsie Pops to our friends last Friday. I bought those Tootsie Pops with my hard-earned money, and I made sure I didn't give them out to kids on Halloween so I could eat them all myself NOM NOM NOM NOM. Fortunately, Body Burners issued out only two of my Tootsie Pops, so I have plenty left for myself.
Anyway, Body Burners is one person in a group of 6-10 people I hang out with every Friday night. We go to bars, but he's not a huge fan of that. "I think I'd like going to bars if we had one bar that we always went to," he said.
It's true. Having one hangout is the best. That's what happens on all the TV shows, like How I Met Your Mother, and everyone knows that TV shows are more realistic than real life.
We haven't had a particular place to go to since Whiskey Tango became Philly 4, and then that closed down weeks later. But that's a story for another time.
Two weekends ago, we went to this place called Maggio's, which is about a 5-minute drive from my house.
I was on my third beer when my friend Adrienne asked me if I noticed any jerks yet. I hadn't, but one does not go around looking for jerks. I let the jerks come to me, and sure enough...
1. Husky Creeper
If we ever find a bar, it can't have a trough. For those of you who don't know what this is - I can't imagine too many women would - it's basically a giant sink in some men's bathrooms that extends around the entire wall. Many men can urinate in it at the same time. Some like it because of the bonding experience.
I personally think it's disgusting. Not because it's unsanitary, but I just like my privacy. I don't want random dudes looking at my wang. I went over this in my shower etiquette Jerks of the Week entry. I won't go anywhere with a trough. For instance, my friend Schmidty invited me out one night during the summer...
Schmidty: We're going to Drake's Tavern, you want to come with?
Me: Yeah, sure. Wait... that's not the place with the trough, is it?
Schmidty: Umm... I think so, why?
Me: Nah, I'll sit this one out.
Schmidty: Because of the trough? Who cares?
Me: Me. I care. I hate troughs.
Schmidty: Haha, why?
Me: WHY!? I WANT MY PRIVACY AND I DON'T WANT DUDES CHECKING OUT MY WANG AND I WANT TO PEE BY MYSELF AND I'M NOT GOING, GOODBYE!
I like Maggio's because it has just one single bathroom. There's one toilet in there and you can lock the door, so I can do all the lewd things I want. But apparently, some of the other patrons had similar ideas.
I was taking a leak when I saw the door open. I was confused because I thought I locked it, but I was pretty drunk at the time, so I probably forgot. The person who opened the door was a husky dude with a goatee in his mid-30s.
"Oh, sorry man, I guess I forgot to lock the door," I said.
He didn't say anything back. He just stood there and winked at me.
See? This is exactly why I hate troughs. Guys would wink at me all the time if I had to urinate in a trough. Not that there's anything wrong with that.
Husky Creeper didn't move there. He just stood there and smirked. Since my jeans were a bit down, I had to waddle over to the door, slammed it shut and lock it.
I saw Husky Creeper about 15 minutes later. I was drinking a beer when he walked by and winked at me again.
I can only imagine how many times Husky Creeper does this every weekend. It's a good thing I wasn't completely hammered, or he may have taken advantage of me in the bathroom. And then Joe Paterno would have to be fired again for not reporting it to the police.
2. Chick Creeper
I wasn't the only person to get accosted in the bathroom that night. My friend Jamie was also a victim.
As far as I know, two memorable things happened to Jamie that night. The first was her bold prediction that the Philadelphia Flyers would win despite being down 3-0 at the time. They won, 4-3. The second was a strange encounter she had with a lesbian or bisexual chick in the bathroom.
Jamie came back from the bathroom at one point during the night. She told us that she was sexually propositioned there by some brunette. I couldn't hear the entire story because the music was so damn loud, but I was instantly jealous. It's always been a personal goal of mine to be taken advantage of by a hot chick, and the bathroom is as good of a location as any. As long as there's no trough, that is.
A few minutes later, Jamie pointed out the girl who wanted to have sex with her. She was sitting across the bar with two dudes. As far as I could tell, she was pretty average-looking. She must have been in her early 30s. She was pretty fit, but her face was kind of busted.
When Jamie went outside, someone came up with the idea that someone should buy Chick Creeper a drink and say that it's from Jamie. Everyone I was with was too chicken, so I decided to do it. I ordered a Sex on the Beach - I thought this was an appropriate drink, given the situation - and told the bartender to give it to the girl with the potholes on her face.
Chick Creeper walked over about five minutes later. It was instantly clear that she was super drunk.
Chick Creeper: Wheeerreezzz Jaaammiieee!!?!??!
Me: She stepped outside for a bit.
Chick Creeper: JAAAMMIIIEEEEEEE!!!
Chick Creeper ran outside, and that was the last we saw of her. No one knows where she went, or anything. Jamie came inside five minutes later, and we told her what happened.
Jamie: Wow, I went back to the car, and all I heard was a girl's voice screaming, "JAAAAMMIIIEEEEE!!! JAAAAMMIIIEEEEE!" but I didn't recognize it, so I assumed she was yelling for someone else.
What happened to Chick Creeper? Did she find another girl to molest? Did she pass out in a garbage can somewhere? Was she eaten by wolves?
See, none of this would have happened to her if she propositioned me to have sex with her. I would have happily obliged, provided it was dark enough that I couldn't see all the disgusting crevasses on her face.
3. My Future Wife
This isn't the first time I've been to Maggio's. I went with a different group of people back in September. The only two constants, besides myself, were my friends Jess and Adrienne.
That night was memorable because Jess announced that she would begin looking for my future wife, since she wanted to see "little Walters running around." I gave her a detailed description of what I was looking for that night.
Jess: What type of girl do you want?
Me: She has to be hot!
That's pretty much it. I mean, what else would any man look for? I'm not going to pine for a smart chick. That would make me superficial. I'm definitely not superficial.
Well, it's December, and there aren't any little Walters running around just yet. Since Jess' promise occurred at Maggio's, I decided to badger her about it.
Me: There are no little Walters yet! I don't see any little Walters!
Jess: I'm trying!
Me: Not trying hard enough, it seems!
Jess: Well, maybe if you gave me more specifics about your type.
Me: Specifics like what?
Jess: Like do you care what religion she is?
Me: No, who cares about religion?
Jess: Do you care if she likes football?
Me: Wouldn't hurt, but as long as she can tolerate it, that's fine.
Jess: What about hair color?
Me: I want a real hair color.
Jess: What do you mean, like not dyed?
Me: No, like a real color. Like either blond, dark brown or red. Nothing in between. I don't want fake colors. Like some girls say they have auburn hair color. What the f*** is auburn? Or dirty blond? They're bulls*** colors invented by the biased media and the douche bags at the Crayola factory so people can feel better about themselves.
(As you can tell, I like to blame the biased media for everything when I'm drunk. And sober.)
Jess: Interesting. So, what about age?
Jess: I'd say 21-35 would be good for you.
Me: Eh, 35 is too old because I want 4-6 kids, and I don't think a 35-year-old woman would be able to do that for me.
Jess: OK, fine, 21-30.
Me: I was thinking more along the lines of 18-30.
Me: Yeah, and if we were in England, 16-30!
This made everyone laugh. Perhaps at me; not with me, but I didn't care. Some American laws are stupid, like not being able to drink legally until you're 18. I don't think there should be a legal drinking age. OK, maybe like 3 or 4 years old, for safety purposes only. One of my cousins was given vodka at the age of 6 by his parents, and he just made partner at some sort of tech company.
Anyway, Jess and Adrienne asked me how I'd relate to an 18-year-old, given that I'm 29. I was drunk, and the bar was loud, so I couldn't communicate my thoughts clearly. But I did think back to a similar conversation I had with my older friend Dale a couple of weeks earlier.
There was this unbelievably hot new waitress at the local diner. I told Dale that I would be interested in her if she didn't have a boyfriend (he's actually a cook at that diner). The following conversation ensued:
Dale: She's only 18.
Dale: What are you going to do with an 18-year-old?
Me: Hmm... I wonder what I could possibly do!
Dale: Yeah, but what are you going to talk to her about?
Me: What am I going to talk to someone about who's my age? I have no conversational skills!
It's true. The only thing I can talk about are sports, politics and TV shows. Otherwise, I got nothin'.
I guess I should tell Jess this so she can refine her search. I mean, I probably should be able to hold a conversation with my future wife, right?
Maggio's had many patrons who were in their 30s, so they naturally played some songs from the 90s. One such song was "Work It" by Missy Elliot.
I suddenly found myself wondering what the hell happened to Missy Elliot. She was so big in the 90s - literally and figuratively - that it was strange that she just disappeared. I asked everyone at the bar if they knew what happened to her, but no one knew.
I then joked, "I feel like she's either in a gutter or in a Dunkin' Donuts right now." Now that I'm sober, I'm thinking that it might be in a gutter right outside of a Dunkin' Donuts. I could see her singing to herself, "I can't stand the rain... or this stale doughnut I found in the gutter."
I'm bringing up Missy Elliot because a friend of Body Burner's that I met for the first time that night was challenged to a dance-off to some weird-looking dude. To this day, we're not really sure who won, or what the stakes were, but they both danced strangely to "Work It."
I talked to Body Burner's friend later that night. He was told about my Web site, so I gave him my card. I then asked him what he does, and he told me that he designs pork and bacon at some sort of meat factory. As a fat man, this really piqued my interest.
Me: Holy crap, really?
Bacon Man: Yeah, I make all types and flavors of pork and bacon.
Me: How do you do that?
Bacon Man: I can use the computer to build the type of pork or bacon I want, and then they make it.
Me: Do you like your job?
Bacon Man: Yeah, it's awesome, except... wait... you're not one of those PETA people are you!?!?!??!
I could see the anger in Bacon Man's eyes. I felt like if I told him I was part of PETA, he would have smashed his beer bottle on my head. Luckily, I didn't have to lie because I absolutely despise PETA.
Me: Nah, I can't stand PETA.
Bacon Man: Good. Good. There are hundreds of PETA people outside my factory every day. They sometimes throw stuff at me when I walk in.
This made me pretty angry. I hate protestors, especially hypocritical, annoying douche bags in PETA. You can read about why I hate PETA by clicking the link.
Anyway, I'm good at solving problems, so I came up with a solution for Bacon Man's dilemma.
Me: I know how to get rid of PETA. What I would do is hire a company that supports plants. I would then ask them to protest and throw stuff at the PETA a**holes, so they'll finally know how you feel walking into work each day.
Bacon Man: Haha, holy crap, that's actually a really good idea.
Hmm... if I can do great things like eliminate PETA when I'm drunk, then perhaps I should drink more often. All I need to do now is hire bodyguards to keep male bathroom molesters away from me. Female bathroom molesters are welcome though.