Do you remember cooking roast on the sabbath with your dad?

Friend: You know, if we weren't in biology, we'd know a lot more hot girls to hang out with.

Me: True.

Friend: If I ever have a son I'm going to sit him down and tell him that biology's cool, but not to go into it.

Me: What'll you tell him to go into? Psychology?

Friend: It doesn't really matter. Psychology. Business. Hotel Management. Any of those are going to surround him with hot chicks. At least more than in bio.

Me: Fair point.

Friend: You should tell Togers and Mr. M. the same thing. In fact, call them up right now and tell them.

Me: I will. I'll say, "Togers, Mr. M., I really like what I do, but when you grow up I don't want you to be biologists. I want you to own a strip club." That should do the trick.

It's not the money, or the bloodstains on the wall, it's not my fault.

I had a very strange dream last night. I wouldn’t normally try to recreate something like a vivid dream for you, because I can hardly expect myself to convey all the details that make such a dream memorable, but I thought I’d give it a try just the same.

It’s that interesting.

Plus, it has the potential for bringing me monetary benefits as you will see shortly.

The part of the dream I remember began with me hanging out with a bunch of people I hardly know (in fact, one was a guy who I only know from reading his movie reviews online). We were at a strip club, so there were some boobies being flashed about, but that’s not what made it a memorable dream*.

A lot of the guys were buying lap dances, but I just needed to go to the bathroom. The movie critic told me that I didn’t want to use a strip club bathroom (probably good advice) and that I should just go to his place instead. Conveniently, it was right next door. So, I left and went to use his bathroom.

Now seems like an appropriate time to tell you that one of the members of our group had disappeared before I left, and the others were looking for him so they could buy him a lap dance.

When I went into the bathroom, I saw an empty box for a Spider Man invisibility suit. Makes sense, right? No wonder they couldn’t find the guy they were looking for. He was invisible! Anyway, I took care of my business and went back outside, only to hear the others calling this guy’s name (which I don’t remember). At that point I thought to myself that they could definitely get him to come out of hiding if they only had some My Little Pony toys to lure him out.

Then the My Little Pony song started playing. Except, the words were modified to the following:

My Little Pony makes you want to see the whores.

Then I woke up.

Do you see how this has potential monetary benefits? This will open up a whole new marketing demographic for My Little Pony items. Instead of only being able to sell them to little girls, they will now be purchased by frat boys everywhere.

I’ll be expecting a fat check from Hasbro any day now.




*I’m a guy. Guys dream about boobies pretty much every night (and all day long as well). There's nothing unique about that!

My moral standing is lying down

I've mentioned before about how I joke with my friends about going to a strip club anytime we have a reason to celebrate. I've taken this to a new level by mentioning it every time I don't want to decide where to go to lunch. After all, one of the newer strip clubs has added a kitchen. It is now Treasures Gentlemen's Club and Steakhouse.

You know, because nothing goes better with steak than a nice pair of fake boobs in your face (or is it the other way around?).

I wonder what else they have on the menu.

Dangerous disguises that you never expect to see

Yesterday my friend and I were trying to decide where to go for lunch. I suggested that we either go to a sandwich place, or maybe to the Olive Garden to get their all you can eat soup, salad and breadsticks. We still hadn't decided specifically by the time we got to my car.

Me: So where are we going then, Olive Garden or Panera?
Him: Soup, salad and breadsticks sounds good. Let's do that. Go to the O.G.* for lunch, and lap dances.
Me: Ok, as long as we stay on the ground level. I don't want any lap dances from dudes in g-strings.
Him: But you'd be ok with dudes in booty shorts?
Me: Are there guys that wear booty shorts?
Him: Don't ask me, you're the one with the specifications.



*For those of you not "in the know" there's a strip club in Vegas called the Olympic Gardens, or O.G. for short. There are two levels. The upper level is where the male strippers are. Just thought I'd throw that in so you could understand the transition from Americanized Italian food to lap dances.