What a Weekend - Part One(Saturday)

Can I tell you about my weekend?

Well, it all started Saturday morning. My Friday night was a hard, long, grueling night of sleeping, so when I woke up at 9 AM, I was too tired to get out of bed. I slept some more, until about 1, then until 3. I got up to "urinate," then took a nap until 5. Now I was ready to start my day!

I only had one thing on my to-do list for the weekend: obtain a lint mop. I had noticed my jacket was full of lint and hair, so much so that a normal brush probably wouldn't do the trick. This was a mop job. So, I high-tailed it over to Bed, Bath, and Beyond, assuming that the Beyond would undoubtedly include the object of my desire.

After walking the aisles for a good 2 minutes, I was on the brink of giving up. Luckily, a pretty young saleswoman wandered down my aisle, so I asked her for assistance. When she heard the words "lint mop," her face instantly turned into a James T. Callahan scowl. She had never heard of such a product! I prodded her some more, hoping that some extra description and pantomime might jog her memory, but she just shook her head like a young Charles S. Dutton. That's when I started to cry.

My tears must have stirred something inside of her, possibly all those feminine hormones I always hear about, stirred them like a soup. A woman soup. She took my hand, and led me to the darkest corner of Bed, Bath, and Beyound, and stuck a business card in my hand. It read "Tiger Crenshaw III - Lint Mops," and had a phone number in the bottom lefthand corner. The lettering was all in Batang font, which I now know was a foreshadowing. When I looked up from the card, the pretty saleswoman was gone. I knew now what I would be doing on my Sunday.

Patrick Duffy Goes to the Gas Station

Now, see, why do you have to do that? I ask you to fill it up, premium, so you put the nozzle in the tank and let the pump do its thing. See, I like that. That machine knows when my tank is full. What I have a problem with is you pumping more gas into my tank so that the total is a "round" number. I'm paying with plastic anyway, there's no need to make the numbers even. There's no change!

This is why I hate getting gas in Jersey. The prices may be lower, but the savings aren't worth it when something like this happens.

Look, I know you're trying to do a nice thing. I know you think it's a convenience for me, but I'd just rather that when the pump says my car is full, you believe it. I like to take care of my car, and I don't know what kind of effect overloading the tank with gas could have on it.

See that card you just swiped? That Gold Mastercard? Now look at this chest. See the masculine hair, the round and toned muscles? This was my Gold Mastercard. This is what bought me my mansion in LA, my house in southern Oregon, and this magnificent Jetta. It bought me friends like Sasha Mitchell, and a temporary voice role on Justice League. You may work at a gas station and do this type of thing for a living, but this chest gives me the authority to tell you that what you're doing is wrong.

I don't expect you to understand. I'm not even surprised that you don't recognize me. How could I expect anything less with that beard you have? My chest hair is cleaner, more fragrant, and more masculine than that beard will ever be, and one more thing...oh, wait, you do recognize me?

No, I'm not Randy West.

(Puts magnificent Jetta into drive, pulls away with trademark exasperated face)

Three Floors Up

They put a bus stop indoors,
Over a couple of handicapped
parking spaces.
A smokers’ enclosure,
parallel black benches,
runners for a circular dirt-filled
concrete pot, a garden
where butts will never take root,
where the harvest is twice daily.
Three floors up
but the fall is forever,
and across the way you can see
yourself, a distant figurine,
in the tinted office windows,
a white shirt surrounded
by a sun-slaying brown.

In twenty years we’ll pull in,
drive by in our Lincolns,
an iron lung strapped
in the passenger seat,
and wheeze
“Now where should I put
my car?”

Here comes the bride

I always joke about my life. Sometimes, I joke about preposterous things.

For example, I'll always remind my parents how easy it is for me to go out find a sperm donor to impregnate me whenever they start with the whole, "We want Grandchildren" spiel.

Or, I joke about dying in a car accident a lot. There have been three, yes - Three, fortune tellers that have foreseen my demise amongst wrangled metal and dripping gas. Therefore, my death in a car accident is a scientific fact.

Yet another joke that I constantly make is that of the Green Card Marriage. Where I marry some poor illegal immigrant soul just so that he can submit his application for residency to this great nation of ours. Well...the wedding is April 1st and you are all invited. Yes, it's April Fools Day, and that will be our inside joke. Life is a comedy. What better way to continue from this point than with a fake, illegal marriage? I can't think of a better way, either.

open to doubt or suspicion

So I was walking down the street, minding my own business, not doing anything dubious whatsoever, when a man with a dubious look on his face approached me. I saw his hand dubiously pull something out of his coat pocket, something hard and cold and dubious, when he said in a dubious voice, "Give me your wallet."

I was stunned. I'd heard of these dubious sorts(or 'dubes' as I call them), but had never had such a dubious encounter before. And now, here I was, on a semi-dubious corner, a dubious gun pointed at me, a dubious finger on an even more dubious trigger, and this dube's face just staring at me in a half-dubious smile. I almost dubed myself.

But then a miracle! A not-dubious-at-all policeman must have seen the dube, because now he was behind the dube, his barely dubious police-issued gun pointed at that damned dubious back. I couldn't help cracking my least dubious smirk, and I could tell in his dubious eyes that the dube knew what was up. The obviously un-dubious cop told the dube to drop his dubious gun, which he did, in a quite dubious manner, I must admit. Soon enough, his dubious wrists were encircled in hardly dubious handcuffs, and I was escorted to my never-dubious house.

If there's anything I learned, it's always be on the lookout for dubes. They can dubiously appear on any dubious alley or sidewalk. I've also begun to practice my dubious face in my bathroom mirror, because, as I've heard dubious, i mean numerous times, the best defense is a dubious offense.

Happy Ash Wednesday!

Today marks the first day of Lent, that 40-day Christian thing where Christians give up things so they can feel more Christian. What are the BfN contributors giving up?

Madison: He personally told me that he is going to abstain from blowjobs, both giving AND receiving, which sucks(pun intended) for the BfN staff, but is a godsend to stray cats and Honda Civic tailpipes.
Pinche: I heard she was going to temporarily halt her ongoing molestation of Popes and potatoes. But let me just say to you, body of Pope John Paul II, and you, Idaho's potato industry: you guys better watch out come April 9th, because that won't be a Cadbury egg up your ass. Or maybe it will be.
Shitface: Rumors are circulating that good ol' Shitface Mcstevens is going to give up scumbaggery, but I highly doubt their veracity.
Robert: He's not going to wear his infamous butter-knife beanie, but he's still going to carry it around as a conversation piece.
Vanderbilt(aka Me): I'm giving up soda but it's gonna be hard because you know like I love soda I drink so much of it and it tastes so good so it's gonna be hard I know but I can do it because I love Jesus and I know he'd appreciate me not drinking soda which I lovesomuch, maybe chocolate though because I love that too and eat it a lot but I'm not really fat at all because of my metabolism but noithink i'llstickwithgivingupsodabecauseilikeitmorethanchocolategodthisissucha
hardchoicejesusgavehislifeandicantevendecideifiwanttogiveupsodaor
chocolategodineedaspriteoramountaindewandsomehersheykisses
damnyougodforgivingmethepowerofthoughtitjustfucksmeup
yummountaindew.