Wednesday, December 22, 2004

The Arizona Power Report

So, I’m back from Arizona (have been for a couple of days actually) and I’m ready to talk about it. Hurray! What a treat for you. For those of you who didn’t get to read the post that I removed before because I felt it was a little too malicious, I will recap some of the minor points that were contained therein. The weekend started out with Kool (that’s me) and the Gang (Everybody else) eating non-pancake related food at the International House of Pancakes. There we met Paul. Paul brought his friend “Piece of Plywood Decorated Like A Medieval Shield Wearing A Santa Hat.” They dined with their friend “Coffee Pot,” who I can only assume was on a break. Paul sang for us and a good time was had by all. I, personally, am always amazed the common man’s ability to ignore some of the world’s greatest spectacles. Anyway, Paul was a great floor show, friends tackling girls in bars is awesome, and proving oneself to be “not chicken” by dancing on the bar is always a good time, but none of these things were the best thing I saw. The very best thing in the world is, as many of you have heard ad nausea, The Library. The Library is a bar. The bar looks kind of like a library. A library with books and couches and such. But they also have TVs. They show football and other sports things on these TVs and at night they play music and people can dance. It’s awesome. Oh, did I for get to mention that all of the waitresses and bartenders are hot women dressed like Catholic school girls? Cause that was pretty cool, too. Not only were they dressed in such a manner, they actually had choreographed little dance routines that they did together on the bar and it made my pants happy. Oh, and not a gimpy legged freak among them. Now, here’s a little hint for all you entrepreneurs out there with a little cash to invest. This is the easiest concept ever! There should be one of these places on every street corner of every town in the world. It is not possible to get sick of this sort of thing. I will be married someday in that bar, after which my new bride will most likely immediately serve me with divorce papers and I won’t care. Everybody wins.

Instead of tailgating before the Rams game, and watching the Charger game on satellite TV in some parking lot, we spent Sunday morning at-you guessed it-The Library. When the Charger game was no longer in doubt and the surviving members of our party arrived with our tickets, we hopped in a bike cab and headed out to watch The Boys of Martz officially give up. The titanic Arizona Cardinals put away the Goats within a few shorts minutes and my pal, Rams Fan Extraordinaire was in full bitch mode. I understood his frustration, having pledged allegiance to the Nation of Bolt since I was but a small child, however, no amount of consternation can possibly justify what took place at halftime. As I was returning from the concession stand with my umpteenth adult soda, I struck up a conversation with an attractive woman of about 40. She was a pleasant enough lady, and when our conversation turned to the debacle on the field she informed me that she was related, by marriage, to a certain Rams safety whose jersey my pal, Rams Fan Extraordinaire, wears nearly each and every Sunday. She also said that if we were to stick around after the game, and the Rams weren’t busy committing ritual suicide, that there was an outside chance we could get pictures taken with some members of the team. Imagine how excited my pal, Rams Fan Extraordinaire, is going to be when I tell him. Oh, here he comes now:

Me: Hey Jerk-off (Not his real name, but may as well be), this is Jill, she is related by marriage to the guy on your jersey!

Jerk-off: Oh really, cause the guy on my jersey sucks! And the Rams suck! This is the worst team I’ve ever seen!

Me: (To Jill) I’m sorry my friend is a douche bag. We’ll leave you alone now.

Isn’t that awesome?! Oh well, I know who gets the next kick in the beanbag. Game over. Back to the Library. My team rules, and I can’t believe they let us on the plane home.

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