Archive - July 2007


Vegas, Baby!

 

    3 days.  That’s how long I was in Las Vegas recently.  Turns out, that’s enough.  Don’t get me wrong, I had a good time.  But that’s enough time for one to spend in Vegas.  And I’m not bitter about gambling, I actually came out a little ahead.  It’s all just too much.  Kinda like Mardi Gras.  Fun.  Glad I did it.  No need to go back.  And I really, really enjoyed the day I spent at Mardi Gras back in college.  Or was it three days?  Four?  Crap, I don’t know.  Somewhere between two days and a month.  That happened during what I like to call my “Grey Era.” 

    Here’s what I found during my trip to Vegas:

 

1.      Brad Garrett (formerly of Everybody Loves Raymond) is tall.

2.      Blake Lewis (almost your American Idol) is not.

3.      Way too many people come to Vegas on Friday afternoon.  It’s like a people ant farm.

4.      I still love drunken Brits.  Not the hooligan variety, the other kind.  Anyone who’s spent much time around Brits knows what I’m talking about.  They’re still immensely fun.  Here’s the conversation I had with the drunken Brit next to me at the Blackjack table.

Drunken Brit: “You’re fucking funny, man!  What’s your name?”

Grumpy Llama: “Buddy.”

DB: “Really?  Is that your real name?”

GL: “No.  But that’s what everyone calls me.”

DB: “My name’s Theo.  Everyone calls me Theo.”

Theo punches me in arm.

GL: “Great.”

Cut to five minutes in the future.

Drunken Brit: “You’re fucking funny, man!  What’s your name?”

Grumpy Llama: “Buddy.”

DB: “Really?  Is that your real name?”

GL: “No.  But that’s what everyone calls me.”

DB: “My name’s Theo.  Everyone calls me Theo.”

Theo punches me in arm.

GL: “Great.”

Leap forward twenty minutes.

Drunken Brit: “You’re fucking funny, man!  What’s your name?”

Grumpy Llama: “Buddy.”

DB: “Really?  Is that your real name?”

GL: “No.  But that’s what everyone calls me.”

DB: “My name’s Theo.  Everyone calls me Theo.”

Theo punches me in arm.

GL: “Great.”

I’m not kidding folks.  And don’t get me wrong.  I thoroughly enjoyed my time with Theo.  The fact that we had, verbatim, the same conversation repeatedly, only made him better.

 

5.      I still enjoy crazy people.  And for reminding of that, I’d like to thank the white-gloved homeless man with his jeans rolled up to his knees dancing hard to music only he could hear.  That was fun.

6.      Another thanks to the Elvis Impersonator who renewed my wedding vows.  You could have taken your job seriously, but that would have ruined it.

7.      Also, I’d like to thank the countless men of ambiguous ethnicity for toiling away in the Vegas sun with the thankless job of handing out glossy, color business cards of the many, many call girls who work the area.  Without your tireless efforts, I would never have been able to collect a truly monumental number of nude pictures, and then fill up Wheelz’s suitcase with them when I got back to his room. 

8.      Oh yeah, and thanks to Wheelz, for letting us borrow his room.

 

And, by the power vested in me by the World Wide Web and an overdeveloped sense of self-worth, I do hereby declare, by virtue of dinner on Saturday night, that the hands down winner from the Vegas trip, is none other that Katie H!!  Give it up for her, people!  She earned it.


 

Dear Grumpy,

I am having a problem at work.  There is a woman, I think, who also pretends to work in my office.  She likes to wear "perfume."  Copious amounts of perfume.  Not the sweet, sensual, sexy perfume you'd find on a moderately expensive hooker, this is the kind of perfume you would find on Bea Arthur at her funeral.  What I'm trying to say is she wears old, dead lady perfume.  The problem is while she is old and not particularly attractive, not a lady, and the jury's still out on the dead part, there's a lot of it.  I mean enough to fog your house with it.  Let's just say we won't be needing the services of an exterminator anytime soon.  So my question, Grumpy, is short of a gas mask, what can I do about this?

Signed,
Looking for a gas mask

P.S. The damn army surplus store is out of gas masks!  I checked.

 

Dear Gas-sy,

Bea Arthur's dead!!  Shit!  Now I've got to update my "List."

Or do I...

Anyway, if I'm reading your letter correctly, and I'm fairly certain I'm not, you work near an ugly old man, who smells.  When determining your options, it's important to look at any extenuating circumstances.  First, he's old.  So, he may not be wearing perfume.  Old men just smell.  It's a little known fact that humans start dying six to twelve months before anyone realizes it.  That's the smell.  Second, he's ugly.  Ugly people smell.  A cruel twist of nature. 

So what are your options?  Well, you could kill him, but it sounds like he's halfway there, so why bother? 

You could get him fired.  Getting someone fired is a lot easier than most people think, trust me.  I've done it several times. 

You could convince him of how close he is to death and how he really should take what little time he has left and go see the world. 

You could duct tape a fan to a helmet so that it's always blowing away from you. 

You could do a lot of Coke and rot your nose out so you can't smell anymore. 

Or just walk up to him when the office is really crowded and say:

     "You fucking smell, old man!  Okay!  You reek!!  It's positively hideous!  I dread the thought of coming hear every day and having to breathe in the putrid trail you leave behind you!  Your odor is so bad is visible!!  Understand!  Like heat waves off a blacktop in July!  It's not okay to bring that fucking stench in here!!  I almost got into a wreck this morning because I was praying to God you had died in your sleep!!  You want to keep it up, old man!  Two can play that fucking game!!"  Then walk over to his desk and take a shit on his day planner.  Oh sure, you're fired, but now you don't have to worry about the smell.  And, you're an office hero destined for legend status.

 

Hope that helps,

Grumpy


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