Tastes Like Chicken

On my commute in to work this morning I got to thinking… Is vanilla an overrated or underrated flavor? If you just take ice cream, I think you have to agree that it’s overrated, as vanilla has become synonymous with plain and basic. But the humble vanilla bean’s extract is wildly underrated when it comes to things like cookies and cakes, where you don’t even know it’s there, but you’d miss it if it weren’t.

My point is this: I’m two for my last two in the money in SNGs (both second place finishes), and it’s because I’m playing a vanilla game. I promised myself that I’d stop trying to get fancy, stop seeing expensive flops with marginal hands, and not semi-bluff my way out of my chips sitting four-to-the-flush anymore.

Some of this is because I just haven’t been seeing that fifth diamond hit the board with Ax suited in the hole, but most of it is because I realized I’m using a sledgehammer to swat a fly. Or, better yet, it’s like a boxer with one punch – the haymaker. If he can just get into position to land the haymaker, he’ll have a good shot of hurting his opponent. But if the opponent plays adequate defense and takes the less gaudy body shots and jabs the boxer is offering, he’s going to have a good chance of winning.

Pushing all your chips into the pot is not a weapon to be used without reason.

It’s not really that I’m tightening up pre-flop by playing only better starting hands. Frankly, I think my selection there may have loosened up just a touch. It’s that I’m focusing on seeing as many flops as make sense early on the cheap, and looking to catch. I’m not pushing big raises out there that get me in trouble. I’m folding instead of challenging with marginal hands.

All of this doesn’t mean I’m doing nothing but limping and check-calling my way to the money, but it does mean I’m not trying to swing the big stick at the table every time I have a decent starting hand. That mentality is self-destructive, and I’ve known it’s mathematically wrong every time I’ve done it.

I was pretty pleased in particular with my performance (sorry about that alliteration) last night in the one SNG in which I played. I don’t think I made any truly bad plays, I laid down pocket deuces pre-flop to a medium raise (and they would have hit the set, but pocket 88 made a straight), and only lost due to a suckout.

I had A8o heads up in the BB. My opponent, who had 5000 to my 3000, pushed all-in. Again. For the umpteenth time. I had a gut feeling I was best here, so I called. He turned over 45. At least it was suited. No Aces, no Eights, but he rivered a Five for the victory.

Hopefully, these last two games mean I’m off the schnide. I’m tired of lamenting crappy poker, and am intent on building my bankroll up to a manageable $2/$4 level again.

Did you know?

If you type “boygenius” into Google, I’m the top link. “Boy Genius” finds me on page two. Not too shabby.

Did you also know that typing “Dr. Pauly” into Google finds Pauly as link #2 and #4 on page one. His Blogger.com profile shows him linked up to TEN blogs. Oy.

“Grubby” returns Grubs in the top slot, and Iggy shows up as link #3 by typing “Iggy,” and is the only non-Iggy Pop website linked out of the top six.

I think there’s a royal quadumvirate of poker blogs out there, starting with Iggy, and adding HDub, Grubby, and Pauly into the mix as well. If you’re not reading these guys, you should be. They’re top shelf, and all bring something a little different to the table. I’m a big fan.

Did you also know that I’ve decided what my wish is? I mean, the wish I get to make when the “Make a Wish” charity people finally get around to asking me. I want, just once, to fire a shoulder-mounted missile at a tanker truck full of gasoline. Just once. Screw this “take my family to Sea World” shit. I want to blow up something real good.

I have backup wishes, just in case. Here’s a few:

>> I’d like to fuck a midget. Not one of those chubby ones that look like a Cabbage Patch Kid. A hot midget. Just to tell my friends I did.

>> I’d like to take a Sea Doo through the “It’s a Small World” ride at Disneyland, and be armed to the teeth with automatic weaponry. I want to take out a few animatronic children of the world along the way.

>> I want to walk around in public for a day holding the hand of a chimp in diapers. I smile just thinking about the image.

>> I want a front page article in the Enquirer that has Jenna Bush revealing in graphic detail what she let me do to her for a whole weekend at her daddy’s ranch while they were away. She has to be honest and tell the world I’m huge.

>> I want to be put in sole control of the draft for the NFL’s Dallas Cowboys, and enjoy the look of shock and horror on the faces of all those bandwagon fans when I choose seven rounds worth of kickers, punters, and white running backs.

Just some things.

I’m really annoyed with all the hand wringing going on about “Fahrenheit 9/11,” in particular, regarding Linda Freaking Ronstadt and her Vegas show. Reportedly, there was mass drink spilling, table tossing, poster ripping, and teeth gnashing. All because a celebrity dedicated a song to a movie.

Were I in the audience, I’d have just rolled my eyes. These people don’t generally know any more or less than I do about world affairs, why the hell should I get uptight over what an over-privileged woman with more money than she could need and exactly zero siblings or children involved in the conflict has to say?

What do these people expect? She’s not just going to sing “Different Drum” for four hours. If your evening is going to be spoiled by some has-been singer’s political views, do me a favor and do your research before buying a ticket. If you’re not so sure about what the artist believes, and it’s going to bother you ever so very much if they try to proselytize even a little bit, don’t freaking go to the show.

It really can be that easy.

Just looking, thanks…

I was browsing on Amazon today, and saw all the new features for the next edition of the Madden football series on the PS2. Man oh man, that game looks like fun.

That being said, I can count on one hand the number of hours I’ve put in playing my PS2 over the last six to eight months. So, do I buy the Madden game upon release, or do I spend that money elsewhere?

This is an especially hard decision considering the Lions are a young and talented team, perfect franchise mode fodder for me this year.

I also saw, in Amazon’s top 100 DVD sellers, Season One of “Sledge Hammer!” is coming out soon. This is an idea very much past due. “Hammer!” was a Mel Brooks-ian satire of “Dirty Harry” type movies, and was awesomely funny along the way. That being said, I’m not sure I’m going to spend $35 on the “Sledge Hammer!” set, for fear of these episodes only being funny to an eleven year old back in the mid 80s.

I’ve got an itch up my ass to spend a little bit of money lately, which is surprising considering my PartyPoker horrorshow as of late. I’ve been trolling ebay looking at picking up more poker chips, which doesn’t really make a lot of sense considering I could split my chips comfortably 15 ways, even 19 ways with a little less comfort. I’ve been looking to add a Charles Rogers jersey to my collection. I want another barstool for my kitchen table. I really could use some comfortable underwear (see: Monday). I’m only rocking a six shirt rotation on the work wardrobe.

That being said, I have my brother’s bachelor party and wedding in two months. I have a possible casino day on August 7th. I have a possible Philly trip the weekend post-wedding. I have to get my oil changed. My dog needs another bag of food. And worst of all, I think I need to get my car looked at.

Long day today... Well after I had written the post just below, I had a strange experience.

Earlier this week, one of my clients whose account I manage went on vacation, leaving me a number of people with whom I needed to follow up in her organization. One of the guys, let's just call him "Dude" for sake of giving him a name, had a name that just rang a bell. I didn't know from where, but the name rang a bell. Anyway, when I had him on the phone I told him I thought I knew him from somewhere, I just didn't know where.

Yesterday, I figured he could easily have been someone I met through my friend Z$, as he knows everyone. Alas, dropping that name didn't do a thing.

He called me today on a follow up, and by now he's thinking my name sounds familiar.

He asks me where I'm from. No, that's not it.

I ask about another friend that could be mutual... nope.

He asks where I went to school. I tell him, and he said, "I used to date a girl who went there, her name was..."

And he mentions my ex-wife.

"Do you know that girl?" he asks, finishing his sentence.

"I married that girl."

He offered to take me out for a drink on my next trip down there, but if memory serves, he was quite possibly the first guy with whom the ex cheated. She planned an "evening out with the girls" in the early days of suspicion, I show up, this dude is there. She tries to scoot out alone with him, one of her friends - who she immediately disowned thereafter - called me and told me after I had left.

It doesn't take a Boy Genius to do the math.

Strong Praise Indeed… I Think.

Maudie referred to me yesterday as “post-modern neo-Garrison Keillor-esque,” which I think is a compliment (I know it was, I kid, I kid). I’m not exactly sure what that means in sum, but I’ll take it.

Part of the reason these ramblings are the way they are is because of my environment. First, most everything I’m blogging is done while I’m at work. I always have MSWord open in the background, and if I have a short lull, I’m on here typing away. Second, the nature of my job is not unlike a guy working Tech Support, where I’ll periodically get calls to put out fires and assist my client. It’s not exactly the same, but you get the idea. That puts me in a position where I might have ten straight minutes to type, or I might be interrupted every fourteen seconds (see: Tuesday) all day long.

So, the lesson is, the shorter my points and more disjointed my posts, the more likely it was that I had an ugly busy day at the office.

The other reason I’m all over the place here is that I am not very good about writing with a purpose (see: “In the Final Strides”). To a large extent, this is me having a conversation with myself to kill some time. And I don’t know what I want to talk to myself about.

Thanks goes out to Iggy for posting Decker’s and Otis’ (links on the right, I’m at work and don’t have them handy) takes on blogging. I had read Decker’s, but missed Otis’ on the first go-round. You guys rule. Due to Decker’s anniversary of sorts, I wanted to go back and see when I really started this (excusing the term) uber-posting habit I’ve gotten myself into. 7/9/03 was the first date on record I could find where I was both writing consistently every day, and was filling up page after page on MSWord. Pretty nifty. I’ve actually been blogging since September 2002, but took a break for awhile, well before I started seeing more than five visitors on the daily. That break was largely due to my ex-wife finding the website, and reading up. I let it lay dormant for awhile, and as far as I’m aware she doesn’t know about GamblingBlues at all. I’d like to keep it that way.

I have an interesting relationship with my ex-wife. I haven’t seen her in person since probably April or May 2002, and haven’t spoken to her on the phone since July 2002 (on the day of the divorce, not an easy conversation). That leaves only instant messaging and email as the only methods of communication that has kept her in my life over the past two years.

And every IM conversation is the same. Your nutshell encapsulation:

Her: I just wanted to see how you’re doing
Me: Fine
Her: How’s the dog?
Me: Fine.
Her: What’s going on in your life?
Me: None of your business.
Her: Why won’t you tell me?
Me: I don’t trust you.
Her: I’ve said I was sorry.
Me: I don’t forgive you, probably never will.
Her: Why?
Me: Why should I?

Repeat for an hour plus, or at least until I get sick of running on the hamster wheel of logic. Me not telling her what’s going on in my life is a little bit of happy satisfaction for me, because it seems to absolutely annoy the ever living piss out of her that I stay tightlipped.

Some people are able to stay friends with their exes. I can confidently say that there is not a girl in my background who I have dated with whom I still speak. Not that that is a point of pride or anything.

I don't know...

I don't know whether to be chagrined or irritated, so let's just take a little bit of both, shall we?

I'm talking about the Googlers who have seemed to find their way here searching for either upskirt or "oops" paparazzi shots of a certain Russian teen tennis phenom.

I put up a picture of my dog once. And I linked to a picture of the poker table my brother and I built a few months ago. I tell you what. You agree to be upset when you find there's no pictures here, and I'll agree to keep the kiddie porn off the Internet. Fair deal?

Al and I have been chatting periodically on the IM lately, and he just so happened to pop up a box on my desktop saying, "Damned Pauly has got me looking at this blogshares.com crap" just when I had a client at my desk on my computer. Uh, oops! No biggie, ultimately. The guy goes back to Alabama in a couple weeks. No harm, no foul.

Actually, my afternoon today was absolutely brutal. It was one of those cauliflower ear sorts of days, where every time you hang up the phone, it just rings again. Major league irritating. So I remarked to Al that I didn't have any time to blog today, and he suggested I come home, grab a drink, and just write.

So kids, today's blog is sponsored by the absolutely adequate Echelon Syrah, retailing for $14.99 at a package liquor store near you. Offer not available in Utah, restrictions may apply.

I'm not a big fan of Syrah, as it has most of the flavor of a heartier wine, without that troublesome body and depth to worry about. I'm not going to pour it out or anything, god forbid. But I certainly won't be wasting my time with this varietal anytime soon. This would actually make a pretty good cooking wine, as once the alcohol burned off, you'd have some rich flavor. That being said, I'm not looking for that tonight. Just a swift kick in the ass would do, thankyouverymuch.

I do appreciate all the positive feedback regarding my self-lamentation post, where I basically kicked my own ass for being too frank in this webspace. I can count the actual number of regular visitors to this site who know me on just about a hand and a half, so I really don't worry too much unless I'm actually feeling paranoid in general. And, thanks to a certain traveling pharmacist, I actually can feel the paranoia that I hadn't felt in quite some time on a more regular basis nowadays.

It was that paranoia, by the way, that made me ask the writer Mike Wendland to not consider my blog for his Detroit Free Press feature on Michigan Blogs. In retrospect, I don't think anything bad would have come from having a few hundred people visit me due to being written about in the paper, but you know what? I like you guys, I respect the community we share, and that's enough for me. I'm absolutely positively the farthest thing from a shameless self-promoter. I wouldn't go so far as to say I root for my own failure or anything, but I'm certainly not the "look at me" type.

Speaking of, I had mentioned I was up for an award this weekend for my acting in the play I did this spring. I didn't win. That was fine by me, as I would have seen my picture go up on the group's website, which was not something I wanted at all. As a matter of fact, thank god my brother is the webmaster, as I could make sure the pre-production pictures from the show wouldn't include any shots of me at all. I didn't feel bad about losing at all, and it was cool in its own way just to be nominated. Now, if they could just have done something about the three hour meeting with no beer that preceded the awards...

I took Frye out into the backyard last night to do his business at around 930PM, just before turning in for the night. He went deeper into the backyard than usual to take his dump, and halfway through, this enormous deer came out of the woods in back, about 20 yards from Frye. To my dog's credit, he finished what he was doing while eyeing down the animal, and then sprung out to attack. The deer had seen Frye, and turned towards the neighbor's yard and ran. Now, here's what makes my dog awesome. As soon as he crossed the width of the yard on a dead sprint after the deer, I yelled, "FRYE, NO!" He came to an instant dead stop. I was impressed. I called him back from the driveway some 40 yards away, and he eagerly came back to me after making sure the deer wasn't coming back.

Now, most dogs would have been so single-minded in pursuit that they wouldn't have listened. Not my dog. He came back with a smile on his face, and that's why my dog is better than yours.

There are two things about my apartment in this old house that continue to irritate me. First, the wall outlets were installed in a fashion that can only adequately be described as "willy-nilly." For instance, there are only two phone jacks in the whole house, and they are in awkward spots. There's only one cable jack, but thankfully it's in the living room. My biggest problem though is with the electrical outlets. There's either a serious lack of them (see: kitchen - featuring six sockets, only two of which are in a sensical spot on the counter), or they're twisted and turned all backwards and sideways. I take a fan from one room to another, and I am always trying to put the fat part of the plug in the skinny part of the socket. And I have to turn it over. It's far too much work for me to do. The other problem with the house is that I have now officially seen every useful bulb in this place blow out once. The latest is one bulb in my two-tube flourescent kitchen light, in which I just replaced the other bulb the day before. That's freaking irritating.

In case you're wondering... Yes. The hot neighbor does, in fact, make up for all shortcomings I've found thus far.

I'm about burned out from my day, so maybe I'll visit Pauly's special plastic bag of fun for the balance of my evening. One word of advice on my way out the door... If you see your pair of nines flop a set, don't be so eager to call if there's a ten on the board. He just might make his quads on the turn.

The Jump Off

Too much information?

Sometimes, especially last week, I think I might just go a little too far in what I’m posting out here. I’m speaking specifically of “O” and “R” in my “By the Letters” post below.

Now, Al has reassured me that it wasn’t bad, but I know in the “R” in particular, I’ve never really put something out here that made me feel upon re-read like I was some sort of maladjusted deviant weirdo. To be fair, if you were to have put yourself in my shoes with two hours of naked heavy petting behind you and no release, you’d be acting a little batty about it too.

Difference is, you’re probably not telling people what happened, because the situation in retrospect leaves you feeling just a little bit weird about yourself.

That being said, although I came close to grabbing the laptop and changing a couple of those letters post-publishing, I didn’t. I don’t really put this up here for anyone but myself anyway, so why retro-edit myself?

I guess I just have to keep this website reasonably secret from any future potential Mrs. BGs. They can find out on their own how sick and twisted I might be.

Alright, enough of that. One of my favorite things in the whole wide world is seeing my website pimped by fellow bloggers out there. I don’t think this is unique to just me, I know it puts a hop in most everyone’s step when you see your link in someone else’s post. Anyway, I was flattered beyond flattery by PokerNerd who posted about “finally” linking up to his favorite poker blogs out there. He did this with the caveat that he was listing them in the order of his preference, and look who ended up on top of that list! Yeah, that’s right.

Flattery, PokerNerd, will get you everywhere. By the way? PokerNerd, PokerNerd, PokerNerd, PokerNerd.

I’m not above shameless linking to return the favor (and I’ll get you and Maudie, and anyone else I’ve missed – let me know – on my list as well).

Now, PokerNerd mentioned that someone should write a guide about how to post interesting content to a blog. While I can’t claim that everything (or anything, hell – I don’t know) I put up here is interesting, speaking as a reader and not a writer, here’s what I expect.

First, commit to your writing. Commit to writing something at least a few days a week. It doesn’t always have to be the greatest blog post known to man, and it doesn’t always have to be funny. Just put something up.

Second, well, commit to your writing. This time, I mean it in a personal sense. Whatever you’re putting down in print, mean it. Or have it mean something to you. Stand behind your words. Whether you’re being pointedly critical or snide and sarcastic, it’s more interesting if it’s believable.

Third, the words need to be yours. You can talk about the news or politics, but Drudge already has the newslink blog thing perfected, and you’re not Drudge. Don’t just throw a bunch of articles up there, you’re wasting my time. If you are going to link, give me at least two paragraphs of your opinion on what you asked me to review. Unless, of course, you find that MPEG of the masturbating cat, that video speaks for itself.

Fourth, and this is a corollary to the second point, if you’re going to talk about yourself, be honest. As “The Star Wars Kid” has proven, most people on the Internet just aren’t that cool. You’re likely not dating a supermodel, you’re likely not going to Hollywood parties, and you’re likely to be balding and slightly overweight. No one cares one way or the other. Be yourself, and write what you feel and what you think.

Fifth, and last on my list, the most interesting blogs to me aren’t single-minded in focus. I enjoy reading about nights out at the bar as much as nights at the PartyPoker tables. I like hearing about the in-laws coming for a visit as much as the check raise that you are baffled that the other guy called. I personally feel (about my own blog) that if I were to actually write with a purpose, I’d run out of ideas very, very quickly.

That’s about it. I’m sure some of the more veteran bloggers out there could add to the list, but that’s really all I need from a blog to keep me interested.

My truck, my beer, and my Shakespeare

There’s a recurring segment on the XM Radio they play in place of commercials called “The Country Music Report,” which sometimes just leaves me smiling. Today, for instance, they were talking to musician Steve Earle about his latest album which, surprisingly, is an anti-war album called something like “The Revolution Starts Now.”

Now, ignore for a moment the fact that an anti-war album in the realm of country music might in fact be career suicide, and play along with me for a minute. In the segment, Earle talked about a couple of things that I thought were pretty funny. First, he has a song called, “Condi, Condi,” which is, of course, a love ballad to Condoleeza Rice. Second, and this was something he seemed rather proud of, he said (paraphrasing), “There’s a spoken word track on the album too, which I wrote entirely in iambic pentameter. It’s a speech from the point of view of war, where war talks to us as people and tells us how evil it is.”

Oh, the humanity.

You Should Know / How All The Pros Play The Game

Saturday night’s home game was the most contentious one we had seen in quite awhile. I firmly believe one of the players came in with the strategy that he was going to make bad calls, catch, and put everyone else on tilt.

If that was purposeful, he played it to perfection.

We started with eight, and played at two tables of four initially, due simply to a sincere lack of space at the main table. A few orbits into the game I looked down to find KK in the hole, and made a nominal raise looking for callers. I got two. Flop comes out KK7, and all of a sudden I’m staring at quads. It’s checked to me, I check, and so does DH. Turn shows an Ace, and I’m happy to see it. It’s checked around to DH, and he goes in for 100, which was about 125% of the pot at that point. The other player folds, and I hem and haw about it for a few extra seconds and just call. The last card was something like a 5, and I check to DH, hoping to god he bets. He doesn’t disappoint, going in for 100 again. I immediately raise another 300, thinking that’s about the max he’d call. He didn’t blink and dropped his 300 in a flash. He had A8s, and was gasping for life when I flipped my KK over.

Man, I love it when a slowplay works.

Where the “fun” started was when MH, brother to JH and DH, got in a little over his head on a big pot. There were five of us left, and MH was on the button. Two folded to him, and he made a raise pre-flop. JS had a hand and regardless as to whether or not the raise was a steal attempt, he wasn’t sitting for it. He pushed all-in with his medium stack. BB folded, and it was up to MH as to what he wanted to do. If he called and won, he’d be the leader. If he called and lost, he’d be down to 450 or so with 75/150 blinds going around. MH had 300 in the pot already, and to call would have meant putting another 2000+ in.

He thought and thought and thought about it.

And then he thought some more.

And then he called.

He turned over K5o. JS flipped pocket 8s. MH caught not only his K, but also a 5, just to rub salt in the wound.

Now, had I made a call like that and won, I’d be embarrassed. I’d take the chips, sure, but I’d apologize and feel a little bit badly about what just happened. Did MH feel bad? Oh no. He started talking about his genius call (“I did have an overcard, I knew I had that so I had to call.”) and about how it’s calls like that that separate him from the rest of us.

Asshole.

If you want to raise with K5o, be my guest. But to claim your strategy on that call was solid, and to essentially rub it in everyone else’s face claiming genius was ridiculous.

JS was royally pissed off, as he had every right to be. And JH didn’t let it go all night. Actually, shortly after MH ended up winning, JH got in his face about it resulting in M throwing all the money to the table, saying he didn’t want it if JH felt cheated, and they apparently were bordering on coming to blows.

Anyway, I was solid with chips for quite awhile until we got down to the last four. JH and I saw a flop which came out 338. I had A8, made a pot sized bet, which JH raised by pushing a small/medium stack all-in. I saw this as a steal attempt, which wouldn’t have been out of character, so I called. He did, of course, have the 3. That dropped me down to about 2000, and with blinds doubling shortly, I was starting to look a little rough.

The cards for me had been ice cold for quite awhile at this point. With only 1100 left and 150/300 blinds coming around again, I saw JQo, and I had to push it in.

Again, MH debated, and thought, and thought some more. It was only another 800 for him, as he was in the BB, but he thought about it.

He called, and turned over QTs.

I was dealing, and as I’m getting the flop ready to turn over I said, “Here’s your ten.” And, of course, there it was. For good measure, the other one came on the turn tripping him up.

I played decently, but the game left a bad taste in my mouth due to MH’s gloating. If I were in a casino and busted someone like that, I’d gloat. Why not? Letting everyone think you’re a lunatic playing some sort of ridiculous logic would buy you a few more bucks in pots you were favored in. But in a home game with the usual crew? Dick move. Plain and simple.

JS was still talking K5o yesterday, and I don’t blame him at all.

Night of the Fat Girls

Friday was an interesting night to say the least.

Mike had nothing to do, so I suggested we go check out “Anchorman” playing at the local theatre.

What is it about fat girls that makes them talk like jive talking black women? Is it genetic? I was standing in line for tickets behind three enormous females, two girls and (presumably) their mom, and one of them was talking about how she was babysitting her nephew and apparently the mother of the child sent her boyfriend to her brother’s house (the “baby daddy”) to pick him up, and she was forced to tell him, “There ain’t no way I’m givin’ you this baby. You ain’t the daddy, and you sure ain’t the momma, and I don’t know you and I ain’t trust you at all, and as this baby auntie, I ain’t lettin’ you take this baby nowhere tonight, nuh uh.”

Oy.

Of course, the fat girl fun didn’t stop there. Mike and I were on our way back, a quarter mile from the theatre on the highway, and we saw a station wagon in the right lane put it’s left blinker on, veer suddenly right, and jerk right back into its lane before turning the blinker off. If it were me, I’d have kept that car a few lengths ahead of me, but Mike needs to be where he’s going before anyone else, so he pulled alongside the wagon.

Just as we get even with them, they decide (with wide open road in front of them) that they need to be in our lane and make a quick move to come over. In the passenger seat, I’m terrified. Mike, to his credit, doesn’t make any sudden moves, inches over a bit to the shoulder and lays on his horn. The wagon gets about six inches away, realizes there’s another car there, and violently jerks back right. The driver then hits the gas pedal hard and jerks the wheel back left to try to even out. The car doesn’t respond well, and starts to fishtail. The driver lost all control at that point, sending the car careening into the ditch, hitting a wire fence and stopping.

Mike and I stopped the car and crossed over to the wagon. Two huge 16/17 year old girls got out of the front seat. When I say huge, Mike was asked if they were possibly pregnant, and the only legitimate answer was, “I don’t know… maybe?” One of them, the passenger, was about 5’2”, a redhead who weighed about a buck ninety. She had a tattoo on her leg (a huge one) of an awfully colorful pumpkin with the words “Momma’s Pumpkin” arcing over and under the actual pumpkin.

The driver was all of 16 or 17, and had one of the biggest paunches I’ve ever seen on a woman. She didn’t realize that Mike and I were the two she almost hit, and was pissed off because “that other car came out of fucking nowhere” and felt it was “that other car’s” fault. Fighting every urge possible to slap that girl silly for almost killing me, I told her that I was in that other car, we didn’t come out of nowhere, and she was the one that made the bullshit move. That quieted her down pretty good.

Actually, we would have really gotten in those girls’ faces about it if the younger sister of Momma’s Pumpkin hadn’t have been writhing in pain in the backseat with a broken ankle. She was enormous too, but I think at this point of the story, that was assumed.

Anyway, I’ve never seen so many people stop for such a small (one car) accident before in my life. There were three out-of-uniform EMTs that just happened to stop, and at least four other cars who pulled over all looking to help. Then, of course, two fire trucks, two cop cars, and an ambulance.

Thankfully, I didn’t need the ambulance, although it certainly could have ended up that way.

I’m frightened to order underwear online

I’m a boxer-briefs kind of guy. I’ve been that way for about ten years, shortly after a few years as a boxers guy. I haven’t actually worn “tightie whiteys” since probably junior high.

Problem is, I suffer from psoriasis. It’s a skin thing that’s aggravated if I don’t keep properly medicated, moisturized, or both. It results in horrific itchiness and is incredibly uncomfortable.

Let’s just say I have it where the sun don’t shine. More to the point, some of the patchiness exists right where seams are sewn into my underwear. I actually have two pair of single piece construction boxer briefs, which are as much like spandex bike shorts as they are like underwear, but these are ill-fitting at best, and don’t give me a lot of support.

So, I’ve been looking for something that fits the following criteria: no seams, and has to be soft material with support.

I wandered around to a few sites, and found the main online store for the company that sells my brand (the Jockey midway athletic briefs) via Amazon called Bare Necessities. They had a couple of pair from a line called (and I’m camouflaging the name, I don’t want the weirdoes on Google finding me because of this stuff) M@ns#lk. Replace the “@” with an “a,” and the “#” with an “i.” Looked kinda like what I was looking for, at least in the one piece construction vein, but I didn’t necessarily like the styles.

So, I Googled the name of the brand, and the first link brought me to this company’s home page, where they manufacture and sell underwear, mostly for women. However, they did have a men’s page as well, and I clicked in to see if there was anything palatable I could look to pick up.

While I refuse to link to this gallery page for fear of Google, and while I refuse to come right out and call a spade a spade here and directly spell the phrase m@n p@nt#es, there are some satiny things on there for men that, in the paraphrased words of Hank Hill, “just ain’t right.”

So, while there’s a part of me that thinks I could find a pair from this company that would fit what it is I’m looking for, there’s another part of me that’s more afraid of landing on their direct mailing list. I wouldn’t blink if I found an “International Male” catalog in my mailbox, but if I were this company I’d be thinking my product line appealed to a certain demographic, and that wouldn’t necessarily be those of us living with psoriasis. The potential for mailing list disaster exists, so I’m thinking I might just stick with my itchy and uncomfortable underwear for awhile.