Guess who's back in the mutha fuckin house with a big fat dick for your mutha fuckin mouth . . .

Alright, I finally have a place of residence with a computer and Internet access.

Stay tuned I have new stories and other shit that I will be posting soon.

Thanks for your patience.


Cameron

Hello Bitches,

I realize the has been nothing new on the site recently. I'm working on that so back off. I have been dealing with some serious health issues and other shit I also quit the job that allowed me reliable access to a fast Internet connection. I am working on a few things including a mini-epic about my 2 and a half week hospital stay.

Hope everyone is doing well

Take it easy

Cameron

Whoring for the Man

As you may have noticed, I put some adds on the site. I tried to make them as inconspicuous as possible. I don't really like it but they are a necessary evil for a a couple of reasons.

If everyone could do me a favor and click on a few of them when you visit it would really help me out. You don't have to buy anything just click.

Also, there will be a new story out soon, (possibly 2) if you're not already on the mailing list. Sign up now by e-mailing me (SpYdiR_9000@yahoo.com) with something like 'mailing list' as the subject

Thanks

Cameron

I am Jack's Imaginary Stuffed Tiger

Normally, I just put these things in the Random Links section but this was so incredibly entertaining and insightful that I felt it deserved its own post.

This article explains that the Edward Norton character in Fight Club is actualy an adult Calvin from Calvin and Hobbes. Take some time to read it.

I Am a Fantasy Baseball Manager. You Are a Huge Nerd

I'd like to first apologize to all of you who aren't at all interested in sports and read only my stories while skipping the articles devoted to baseball. Just to forewarn you, as The Season is almost upon us my site will probably be saturated with more sports related writings, there will still be stories and stuff but those of you who know me are aware that baseball consumes a majority of my time from April-October.

The following post is (optimistically) probably interesting to about 3 people other than myself, but I wanted to put it up anyway. It is an account of my fantasy baseball draft from Wednesday night.

I'm not going to pretend that fantasy sports are not incredibly nerdy, because let's face it, they are. I don't care. I love doing it. It gives me an interesting perspective on the game and it's numbers while at the same time having characteristics completely unique unto itself. There are strategies and tricks like everything else and while an overwhelming knowledge of baseball is extremely helpful it won't stand up alone.

Our league, now in its second year, consists of ten teams:

Six, returning from last year:

Fired for 'Roids - Sean (Co-Commissioner and my arch rival in this)

Bunch of Idiots - Kevin (The Tampa Ray Devil Rays of Fantasy Baseball)

More Chin Music 4U - Chad (Last years surprise winner who snuck past me in the Championships after an entire season of shellackings at my hands)

Skirt in the Dirt - Victoria (The chick)

Evil Empire - Kenny (A die hard Yankees fan who can be tricked into
ridiculous trades as long as he is getting someone who is currently or once had an at bat in pinstripes)

Killah Cam - Me (the other Co-Commissioner. That's right, bitches,
recognize.)

And four new invitees:

Alpha-Betas - Cappy (Will talk more shit than anyone regardless of success)

Sosa's Bitch - Bucces (Has no idea what he's doing, just along for the ride)

ChiSox - Joe (I'm not sure if he knows either)

Orihoes - Dan (Kinda got roped into it because we needed a tenth and he happened to be there at the time)

We use Yahoo's fantasy league because it's free and easy and has customizable scoring. We use 17 different statistics (batting average, runs, hits, homeruns, RBI's, stolen bases, strikeouts, fielding percentage, and OPS for position players and innings pitched, wins, losses, saves, strike outs, holds and WHIP for the pitchers) A team consists of 23 players total: 8 starting position players 5 bench players 10 pitchers that can be any combination of starters, relievers and closers. Every day you start 8 position players, 2 starting pitchers 2 bullpen guys and 1 other pitcher that can be a starter or reliever.

Every week the teams compete head to head in each category every day. For every statistic in which a team scores higher than his opponent, he gets a win and vice versa. Standings are kept just like MLB and during the last few weeks of the season, there is a play-off/World Series-esque match up to determine who is the winner.

Other than pride and an off-season of bragging rights each manager puts in $50. Second place gets his money back and the winner gets $400 (plus his 50)

This year, in keeping with tradition, we are having a live draft at a bar. There are a few things that ALWAYS happen during this time, a ridiculous amount of shit talking and mind games designed to ruin peoples confidence and force them to make stupid picks, half the people insisting that it's moving too fast while the others complain that it's too slow both resulting in half-retarded picks fueled either by waning interest and the desire to speed things along or feeling like you are pressed
for time and throwing out names like Vinny Castillia or Paul Bako. By far my favorite aspect for the live draft is the inevitable late round, drunken, heart pick. This year my money is on Kenny falling for Tino Martinez way too early.

As I mentioned this is definitely dorky but there is $400 and the right to talk shit on the table so I have been preparing for weeks. Reading every early scouting report, spring training box scores and of course heading the infinite wisdom of Peter Gammons, a man who has consumed so much baseball knowledge in his life, he could take a shit that could bat .300 with 40 HR and 115 RBI's. I'm ready.

A few things one must remember when compiling a fantasy team: Offensive players are much more valuable than starting pitchers as they play every day as opposed to once a week. Catchers NEVER play 162 games so taking one early is a waste, sure everyone wants I-Rod but he's not worth passing up a regular position player because outside of injury he's playing probably 70-75% as many games. Players that are listed at multiple positions are awesomely valuable because on bye-weeks or in the event of
an injury it's nice to have several options. Another important thing is there are always a few stats that get overlooked, in our league it is stolen bases for position players and holds for pitchers. Get a soild guy here and you can steal more than a few games.

Most importantly though, you have to be prepared. Everyone wants the same 15 players. Everyone wants Vlad, Pujols, Teajada, and Beltran most people want Bonds and A-Rod (I personally REFUSE to put them on my team). You need to know the best options behind the superstars. For example I will not draft anyone not on the list below (except a few late round pitchers and OF). Every position is ordered by who I want down to who I will settle for, this minimizes the chances that the drinking and shit talking will cause me to make bad picks:

Starters:
Johan Santana
Jason Schmidt
Ben Sheets
Carlos Zambrano
Tim Hudson
Mark Prior
Kerry Wood
Roger Clemens
Curt Schilling
Randy Johnson
Roy Oswalt
Pedro Martinez
Oliver Perez - Pit
AJ Burnett
Josh Beckett
John Smoltz
Brad Radke
Livan Hernandez
CC Sabathia
Jake Peavy

Bullpen:
Eric Gagne
Mariano Rivera
Brad Lidge
Keith Foulke
Billy Wagner
Armando Benitez
Francisco Rodriguez
Jason Isringhausen
Joe Nathan
Trevor Hoffman

Catchers:
Victor Martinez
Ivan Rodriguez
Javy Lopez
Joe Mauer
Jason Kendall
Jason Varitek
Mike Piazza
Johnny Estrada
Michael Barrett
Paul Lo Duca

1B:
Albert Pujols
Todd Helton
Jim Thome
Derrek Lee
David Ortiz
Aubrey Huff
Mark Teixeira
Carlos Delgado
Richie Sexson
Sean Casey

2B:
Alfonso Soriano
Mark Loretta
Marcus Giles
Jeff Kent
Bret Boone
Todd Walker
Jose Vidro
Chone Figgins
Mark Bellhorn
Tony Womack


3B:
Aramis Ramirez
Scott Rolen
Eric Chavez
Adrian Beltre
Melvin Mora
Aubrey Huff
Hank Blalock
Mike Lowell
Chipper Jones
Troy Glaus

SS:
Miguel Tejada
Nomar Garciaparra
Edgar Renteria
Michael Young
Carlos Guillen
Jimmy Rollins
Rafael Furcal
Orlando Cabrera
Jack Wilson
Khalil Greene

OF:
Vladimir Guerrero
Bobby Abreu
Manny Ramirez
Ichiro Suzuki
Carl Crawford
Miguel Cabrera
Jim Edmonds
JD Drew
Adam Dunn
Juan Pierre
Carlos Lee
Johnny Damon
Steve Finley
Magglio Ordonez
Vernon Wells
Brian Giles
Jason Bay
Jose Guillen
Garrett Anderson
Milton Bradley


Yes, I made an excel file and printed it out and will bring it with me. I also have three different lists of the top 100 projected players in every position for next year, just incase. And of course my notebook to record the draft. I don't necessarily need all of this but it couldn't hurt and it's another subtle mind game.


Originally I planned to keep a running journal of the draft but, unfortunately, as Co-Commissioner, I had certain responsibilities like crossing names of the master list as well as my wish list, drinking about a dozen beers, drafting for Joe who was unable to attend at the last minute, eating a burger, and making condescending comments about other peoples picks.

The draft was set to begin at 6:00 PM, we decided the over/under for actual start time at 7:30. Amazingly, we were under way at 6:03. Once everyone was assembled we annexed the back room and began.

Everyone's name was put in a hat and the draft order was set. Sean, much to his chagrin got the first pick, he announced that he would trade with either Kenny or Kevin but they got picks 2 and 3 respectively and he saw no advantage to that. I ended up 4th which isn't terrible and the rest of the group fell as Joe, Dan, Cappy, Bucces, Chad and Victoria.

In the first round, Pujols went first to Sean. Kenny, predictably drafted A-Rod and Kevin, not surprisingly, took Manny. I got Vlad and was happy to do so since he was my second choice over all and this way I didn't have to actually root for a Cardinal. I gave Joe Bonds because I am somewhat altruistic and no one really wanted that scumbag on their team anyway. Dan chose Carlos Beltran because he, like the Mets, believes that Beltran is the juggernaut everyone saw in the post-season, not the .284/27/104 guy his career numbers dictate. Cappy, in a surprise move, picked up Johan Santana I openly mock him for taking a pitcher, but secretly commend his choice as Santana is arguably one of the best in the game in one of the worst divisions in baseball. Bucces went with Bobby Abreu, a solid, albeit strange, 1st pick. Chad took Alfonso Soriano which was the best possible choice at that point and Vic grabbed Tejada and Gagne on the comeback both good picks.

Rather than bore the last two people still reading this with 22 more paragraphs of round by round coverage I'll just hit a few highlights and provide you with the like to the site if you want to check it out.

As the draft went on I realized that Cappy and I had similar game plans and in consecutive rounds he stole two of my sleeper picks (Aubrey Huff and Carl Crawford) then started drafting middle relievers to lock up the hold category. That evil bastard. Luckily his first two picks were pitchers and that is more than likely going to fuck him in the end. Plus I got a few of the picks he wanted, too. This should be interesting.

Kenny, either because he was shit-faced or because he wanted to surprise us not only drafted as many Cubs as Yankees but he also took Tim Wakefield from the Red Sox. (Also I was wrong about the drunken heart pick with Kenny it turned out to be Giambi not Martinez)

Kevin was so hammered by the 5th round that it took him roughly 4 years to make every pick. Someone would nudge him or offer advice and he would drift into a 5 minute diatribe about how everyone need to stop trying to fuck with him. So that was fun. Then every time someone else drafted a player from the Red Sox, he would yell at them despite the fact that he drafted someone else instead mere moments ago.

Chad was not drinking because he had a mid-term on Thursday and with each passing round of picks and beers he was becoming increasingly more furious with the drunken monkeys by whom he was surrounded. Luckily, since EVERYONE is afraid of Chad one loud profanity from him and the draft would move smoothly for at least 2 rounds.

Dan took Vinny Castilla. Granted it was in the 22nd round but he still looked at the 500 or so remaining players and said to himself "You know what? Vinny's gonna be my guy." That was my favorite moment of the draft.

3 hours and 23 rounds and a $300 bar tab later we were finally finished. All in all I like my team especially since I was able to stuff it with trade bait to bolster the pitcher/outfield positions which as of right now are sorely lacking.

Anyway here's the link to the league if by some chance anyone is still reading this and at all interested.

http://baseball.fantasysports.yahoo.com/b1/158743

Mailing List.

I realize I haven't put anything new up in a while and for that, I apologize. I am now working 70 hours a week and there is some ancillary shit right now that is making it difficult for me to write with any sort of regularity, however, as soon as I put something new up I will send everyone in my contact list and e-mail to let them know. If I don't have your address, but you would like to be notified of new stories, please send me an e-mail at SpYdiR_9000@yahoo.com with the subject Mailing List.

Thanks

Cameron

What is Art?

Although some people consider writing an "art form," as a "writer" I feel it is unfair to true artists to juxtapose the written word with some of the work by obscenely talented artists like my friend Marcelo.

While I find myself extraordinarily jealous of his skill and on many a dark night have plotted to murder him and consume his brain in order to hopefully absorb some of his super human capabilities, I simply cannot bring myself to do so, I'm sure he appreciates it.

TOPIC: Please take some time to view his art here While it may be considered “dark”, and many of you may not "get it" there is no denying the raw talent he possesses. Enjoy.

Cameron Falls in Love

Monday was Valentines Day, which I apparently spent, and I’m quoting here “sitting at a table with [Previous Hook-Up] holding hands and staring into each others eyes.” I have no memory of this. I was incensed. When Sean told me, I promised to deliver unmentionable suffering upon his person if he did not stop spreading this slanderous filth. That’s when he went to the video replay.

TheBar has surveillance cameras and the Manager loves to give me shit, so when he saw how I was spending this most sacred of Hallmark Holidays he made sure to save the tape. We walked down stairs and there on the screen was exactly what Sean had described to me. I was disgusted with myself as a man and all I wanted to do was get in the shower and scrub myself like a rape victim. It was horrible.

Anyway, apart from this disgusting display, V-Day got me thinking about all of my past “relationships.” To say that they failed would be to imply that, at some point, they had even a remote chance of success. There was the 19-year-old I turned into a lesbian. Twice. The Hooters chick that stole my cat. On my birthday. The stripper who tried to run me over with her car. And who could forget, the girl who tried to stab me and , upon failing to do so, broke a beer bottle on the back of my head. But then there was you. You know who you are. . .

You’ve always been there for me, as far back as I can remember. Always stood by my side never judging, always loving. You aren’t like the others. You always put my needs first and you’re so easy to hang out with. No fancy dinners, no boring conversations, no lavish gifts, you’re content to just be around me. You like all my friends and enjoy a ballgame or a few drinks at the bar as much as a quiet night alone. Best of all, you always seem to be there when I need you.

And the sex. Dear god, it’s glorious. You always seem to know exactly what I like. With out even asking you are willing to please me as often as I want. Concerned only with my happiness, you ask nothing in return. No cuddling no pillow talk, as soon as I’m satisfied you light me a cigarette, crack me a beer and change the channel to ESPN.

Sure, we’ve had our problems. I’m sorry about all the cheating but I always come back to you don’t I? You’re the one I love, those others didn’t mean anything to me you know that. I’m sorry about your sister, it was a horrible drunken mistake. You two look so much alike. Can you ever forgive me? I want you back. I want us to be together forever. I’m sorry to do it like this but I wanted everyone to know. I wanted to prove to you that you’re the one I want. I thought this was the best way to do it.

I don’t know if it makes any difference but I still carry your picture with me. I love you.

Via con Dios, Sammy

I had originally entitled my valedictory Sosa article "Hendry Finds Cure for Cancer." It was a seething attack of a man I called an abandoner, an egomaniac, a cheater and a prima donna. It then moved in to an uncomfortable verbal fellatio of Jim Hendry and his shrewd negotiating skills, finally resolving with joyous "See ya' Sammy Suckass." That was the way I felt, or so I thought.

I had been saying for some time that The Cubs had to get rid of Sammy. I actually wanted it done 2 years ago so the could have made a move for Vlad Guerrero on the free agent market, but what do I know? I'm just a fan. Vlad won the MVP, Sammy missed 40 games and hit .252 with 130 strikeouts. Bitterness and righteous indignation aside, his departure was long overdue.

I can't pin point exactly when I started my descent toward despising Sammy but I turned on him like a pre-menstrual chick on a gossiping co worker. It wasn't so much a single incident but rather an amalgamation of events. Either way, before I knew it, he had become the focus for a disproportionate amount of my rage.

I watched or listened to at least parts of all 162 Cubs games last year, scheduled my lunches around the 1:20 home games and I went to about 15 at Wrigley. I read articles and box scores, listened to interviews and press conferences. I got e-mails from Cubs.com after every game. I even compiled my own list of stats throughout the season in a 7 page Excel file. Yes, I'm a nerd. Shut up, that's not the point. I knew this team better than I know some of my friends, Sammy needed to go and I felt qualified to make that decision. I was also not shy about voicing said
opinion.

He had been slipping for a while but everything was magnified and seem infinitely more egregious last season. Following an injury, he refused a rehab assignment. Despite his anemic offense, he wouldn't move down in the batting order. He didn't even dress out for the final game and left before the first inning was over. During the off-season, in an interview with his home town Dominican paper, he blasted Dusty Baker, the Cubs and the treatment he received, claming it was unfair.

The Baker aspect was another interesting wrinkle in the rapidly unfolding Sammy Saga. Dusty, during his managerial campaign in San Francisco, had by all accounts, a good relationship with arguably the most difficult ego in the game: Barry Bonds. Baker and Balco (oops, Barry) got along fine, yet he and Sammy had a tumultuous power struggle that was well publicized and created a rift within the fans and players. It wasn't working. It was time to move on. Everyone knew it.

Sammy wanted out, too. He restructured his contract so that it would be easier for him to be unloaded. It was just a matter of time. So, I waited and waited. Days passed, abound with rumors of his trade, The Mets, The Rangers, The Nationals, The Braves. The papers and talk radio shows were almost entirety devoted to his possible move. But nothing was happening. I was becoming increasingly anxious, all the marquee free agents were signing elsewhere and we were still stuck with Sosa. I was beginning to think the deal would never go through. It looked bleak. I knew that another year with Sosa was another year without a World Series.

Then, suddenly, it happened. Friday night, Brehon Pub, my phone rang. A deliriously overjoyed friend began shouting "He's gone! Sosa's gone! He got traded to Baltimore! He's finally out!" I took a deep breath and calmly informed him that if he were fucking with me, I would feed him his vital organs in front of his family. He assured me that it was true. To verify, I turned on ESPN and there it was. He was gone. I ordered a round of like 12 celebratory shots for the people around me, some weren't even Cubs fans, several couldn't care less, still others didn't know me and asked that I stop hugging them and yelling in their ear.

I called everyone I knew who was even remotely interested in The Cubs to tell them. It was met with mixed reactions as it was pretty late and I was hammered and yelling almost unintelligibly, but I didn't care. I was too excited to concern myself with trivial things like etiquette or the possibility of waking people up. Sammy was gone, everyone needed to know.

At that point I wasn't even sure about the conditions of the trade, not that it really mattered, the albatross was gone. I would have been happy with a beer vendor and a mascot. I spent the next few days researching the players we got, it looked good. 2 solid prospects and a utility guy who could bat lead off play in the outfield and in the infield as needed. Nice. Hendry did it again.

Wednesday afternoon I was putting the finishing touches on my article when my friend Sean invited me out for a drink. We met at The Green Door Tavern up the street to have a few beers and watch the press conference that would finalize something I had been wanting for a long time. It was good to have Sean there as he is one of the only other people I know who shares and understands my ridiculous infatuation/borderline obsession with the Cubs. We had discussed this moment numerous times before and it was now finally here. We were both giddy with excitement.

We watched the TV intently, waiting and talking when finally, there it was. The podium, the painted backdrop of Camden Yards and Sammy Sosa, sharing the same smile Sean and I had plastered on our faces. This was it. They showed highlights of Sammy's time with the Cubs, his homeruns, a few diving catches, his trade mark sprint out to right field. I grumbled and asked why they didn't show any footage of him flailing wildly at a face high fast ball to end an inning. Where were the botched routine fly ball shots? Then I realized, I didn't care, I would never have to see those thing again, why let bitterness get in the way of such a magical moment.

Sammy was finally introduced to the crowd. I watched as he took of his jacket and pulled on the bright white jersey with "Orioles" scrawled across the front in orange and black cursive. The familiar "SOSA 21" emblazoned on the back. He smiled again as he put on the hat, kissed his fingers, tapped his heart and it was final. Sosa was no longer a Cub. I went to breathe a sigh of relief, but it didn't come.

I was suddenly awash in a wave of unexpected emotions, to call it bitter sweet would be a trite oversimplification and surprisingly, I took very little enjoyment in it at all. What was happening? I felt a twinge of loss, a strange, almost painful nostalgia. "No," I said. "This is what I wanted. This is what I've been waiting for. Why does it feel like this. I'm supposed to be happy." I searched for that unbridled joy I had felt upon first learning about the trade 4 days earlier but it wasn't there, I was confused. I looked to Sean and it was obvious he was struggling with the same things. "I feel like I just dumped my girlfriend and thought it was ok until I saw her at the bar with another man, smiling." he said "I want him back."

We both sat in silence wrestling with a bevy of unforeseen feelings. We watched and listened as Sammy thanked the city of Chicago and all of the fans. He said he wanted to finish his career here and he wishes it could have been different. I'm sure he was told to say those thing but it felt genuine. I could see that he loved it here and despite all the shit, he was going to miss us, too.

Then just to cap it off, he equated the situation to a marriage saying, "Sometime ju gotta getta divorce." Ouch. Then a big grin returned to his face, accentuated by the flashing cameras. He paused as if to soak in the feeling of being wanted and appreciated again. He held it for a little longer than I wanted. You could tell he was enjoying it. Finally he said he was looking forward to the future and his new team. I suddenly began to have my doubts about the whole thing.

The gravity of the situation finally hit me, we just paid twelve million dollars to get rid of a Chicago icon, the most prolific offensive force in the history of Cubdom and a first-ballot-hall-of-famer.

I still think it was the right move but I got so caught up in the disappointment and anger, I forgot how much he meant to this city. He had his faults, his skills were declining but now that he's gone, I can't help but think of the first homerun I saw him hit in person, or the ball he threw into the stands during Game 2 of the NLCS. A ball that glanced of my finger tips and fell just short of my out reached hands. I remember him charging out to right field proudly waving that little American flag after 9-11. Even now the sneezing and the corked bat fade away and I'm reminded of a man I cheered for, a man who helped save my favorite sport. A man who was the face of the North Side for a decade and arguably the best Cub to ever play.

Despite all the incendiary, degrading things I said and wrote, it still hurt to watch him leave.

I'm gonna miss you, Sammy. I wish you the best. I'm sorry we couldn't make it work but I'll see you in Cooperstown where I know you'll be wearing Cubby Blue.

David Hansen

This is a story from a while ago that I had actually forgotten about until the other night when I was talking to a girl at a bar. I don’t like it as much because I’m not the main character and it’s not as well written as most of my other work, but I felt I needed to put something up while I’m finishing up some other stories.

Several month ago, myself, Drougs, Dahlsy and Staggs went to TheBar after work. We’re just hanging out, shooting the shit and watching the game. Pretty standard stuff until in walks David Hansen.

Despite the fact I had never met this man before, I immediately knew his name, as it was embroidered on the back of his leather vest, just above a dragon and the words “World Champion.” He is an older man shoulder length grey hair and matching goatee. Leather pants, a sparkly, multi-colored shirt beneath the aforementioned vest and biker boots. He drives a Harley. It is true you cannot buy ‘cool’ and attempts at doing so have hilarious results.

Dahlsy becomes enraptured with this man and after a while calls him over. The obvious question “what are you the world champion of?” is quickly asked. The answer: hairpieces. He is a 7 time state, 5 time national and two time world champion in hair piece design.

Immediately he is fascinating. We begin talking to him about his accomplishments shooting pool and pounding drinks. At some point in the evening Hansen suggests that we go to another bar down the street.We agree, pay the tab and head outside, where we encounter a homeless man who looks EXACTLY like Grady from Sanford & Son. I inform him of this and he feigns amusement. Hansen invites Grady along. I begin whistling the song from Sanford & Son and giggling to myself. The joke is getting old but I am still thoroughly amused, so I continue.

Hansen says he wants to stop at his apartment to change, and invites us up.

I am going to try and describe Hansen’s apartment but I fear even my literary prowess will fall short of capturing the eerie, uncomfortable yet polished and engrossing surroundings in which I found myself. In a single phrase I think it could best be described as a Stanley Kubrick nightmare. The entire apartment was open and surprisingly voluminous, although the lack of room separation and floor to ceiling mirrors that covered almost every wall may have attributed to the perceived size. In the center of the room was an aquarium, containing several small, live birds. A bed against one wall with the obligatory bedroom adornments and a rather ornate and expensive looking oriental, free standing partition. Were it not for the eccentricities I could see this place being rather posh and I imagined it to be exceedingly expensive.

By far the most unsettling aspect of this whole place were the mannequins. They were arranged everywhere throughout the space. At least a dozen of them. All with the same blank plastic expression they shared with their owner. Some were adorned in multi-thousand dollar Hansen hair pieces, others were contorted in strange, unnatural positions. One in particular was lying on the floor wrapped in strings of Christmas lights, bound like an abducted rape victim in the trunk of a car. I tried not to spend too much time examining these unsettling still-lifes as in all honesty, they fucking freaked me out. I backed away cautiously eying these strange models and half shuddering. I returned to the group that had now found a place on the couch, Hansen excused himself momentarily and returned with a tin full of weed that could only be described as the stickiest of the icky. He rolled an enormous spliff and began to pass it around. I declined participation as weed has a tendency to give me panic attacks and my soundings would in no way be conducive in calming me after the onset of such an affliction.

Hansen offered Grady a cut and a shave and led him to the barber chair and station that was set up in the far corner of the apartment. Dahlsy, after he became sufficiently intoxicated, he began to wander around the apartment removing hairpieces from the displays and placing them on his head. With each toupee, emerged a new persona. He would change accents, dance around and perform skits. This continued for quite some time. It was amusing to a point but after a while his originality ran out and he began doing piss poor impressions of movie and television characters. I turned my attention to a photo album sitting on the table.

Thumbing through the pictures, the first half were mostly of Hansen, his multiple motorcycles and from what I could deduce, a limousine company he used to own. The second half however was completely different and I was in no way prepared for what was about to come. I had no desire to flip past the first two pages as they contained grainy, poorly focused pictures of primarily black chicks. Naked. Not even tasteful Playboy style nude shots, more like girls on bare, stained mattresses, spread eagle, uncomfortably close crotch shots. I have no idea how many there were but judging from the number of pages and assuming the theme continued throughout there were upwards of 100 pictures.

I decided it was time to leave. I informed the rest of the people of this, headed downstairs and lit up a cigarette. A few minutes later Drougs, Dahlsy, Staggs, Hansen and Grady immerge from the apartment, Hansen has changed outfits and now dons a blue jumpsuit with the same world champion patch.

We head into Butterfield 8. Butterfield 8 is a very upscale restaurant/bar with under lit floors, marble bar 10 dollar drinks and never less than 3 exotic hundred thousand dollar cars parked out front. Rumor has it this is one of Mick Jagger’s favorite spots when he comes to Chicago. When jumpsuit clad Hansen, Grady the hobo and my bosses and I walked in, EVERYONE in the bar stopped and looked at us. I took a quick assessment of the situation and without saying anything slipped away and got into a cab.

EDIT: Butterfield 8 burned down on Friday. I’m pretty sure it was insurance fraud.

Holiday Party

On Monday TheBar had a Holiday Party, I was invited as I work there on occasion and am good friends with several of the employees. There really isn’t a whole story here but I felt the need to share a few highlights form the evening.

The first part of the party was at the Bulls game, while there I noticed a kid with a giant foam cowboy hat with horns. I decided my hat was not hilarious enough and I wanted his. I offered to purchase it from him and he demanded something outrageous like $20. I told him instead I would buy him some beer, luckily he declined. He was like 13 and I imagine I would have gotten into some trouble for that. It was also at this point I noticed his sister had a similar hat when I pointed this out to one of my buddies he said “Cam, if you go hit on a 15 year-old and steal her hat I don’t think we can hang out anymore.”

On the bus on the way back I realized I had to take a leak. I attempted to go out the window but that didn’t work very well so I grabbed a bottle and tried to relieve myself into it. I more just pissed all over the seats and the floor, threw the bottle out the window wiped my hands on my buddy Mike and then tackled him.

We had the bus drop us off at a bar despite the fact I no longer had any business being out in public. While at the bar I thought I was hitting on a chick. She asked me to write my number on a napkin I did and she asked if she could borrow my phone. She then called her internet boyfriend, in Tennessee, whom she has never met in person at a bar, on my fucking phone. During this conversation, which lasted 56 minutes according to my call log, he purchased her a plane ticket to come see him. I used this 56 minutes to hit on her friend, much more successfully.

I met another chick with whom for some reason I got into an argument about the Pythagorean Theorem. No, I don’t know why or how that happened. She claimed that the sum of the squares of the sides of a right triangle were greater than the square of the hypotenuse. I politely corrected her and after an exhaustive explanation, she completely abandoned her argument and claimed that she had agreed with me the whole time. I accused her of being a spineless flip-floper and suggested a career in politics. She got up to leave and I suddenly noticed, she had an incredible body. Damnit.

On my way home I met an Ecuadorian named Juan with whom I spoke in broken Spanish. He gave me one of his Coronas.

Date Application Page

Lonely? Desperate? Affection starved? Or do you just find me inexplicably yet intoxicatingly attractive? If you answered yes to any of these questions, fill this out and you could win a date. With me.

Post responses here or if you would prefer email to SpYdiR_9000@yahoo.com

Stats

Name:

Age:

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General Questions

Why are you filling out this form?:

What is it that you find most attractive about me?:

How would you rate yourself in terms of your physical attractiveness?:

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I should compliment you by saying:

Finish this sentence: “I like a man who…

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Why do you think you want to go out on a date with me?

Our First Date

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What type of food will we eat, assuming we go to dinner?:

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Essay Question

Use this space to tell me exactly why it is I should date you. I would highly suggest including something funny, witty or intelligent, it can only help: