Random Observation

You know something? I think it must really suck to be a member of US Navy SEAL Elite Team 6, right now.  Sure they have the satisfaction in their hearts of knowing they killed one of the vilest mass murderers the United States has ever known, Osama Bin Laden.  However, when you take into consideration the fact their identities have to remain classified, you know that has to suck hard for those guys.  Do you have any idea how much sex these boys are not going to be having because they can’t tell anyone they executed that raid?  I imagine any woman from Portland, Maine to Portland Oregon would be willing to “take one for the country” for any of these men.  Also, do you realize every time they walk into a bar they are still going to have to pick up the tab at the end of the night?  Seriously, we all know there would be more than just sexual perks for those who were exposed as members of Team 6.  I mean, can you imagine if every time you throw a baseball for the rest of your life, you’re forced to remember that time you could have thrown out the ceremonial first pitch at the World Series?  Man, it has got to suck being a member of US Navy SEAL Elite Team 6.  That’s why I feel so fortunate that I am able to be honest with the world in telling everyone I am a member of US Navy SEAL Elite Team 5.  Am I right, ladies?

Reflections of A Blackout

Beyond the first hour of my experience, I have little to no recollection of the events which took place.  Luckily, my good friend Kip Martin kept an hourly journal of my adventures so that I might be able to share with you this account of my night of most regrettable drunken debauchery.

Hour 1:
I begin to develop an attraction for anything with breasts.  Coincidentally, I’ve never found John Goodman more captivating than I do during this hour.

Hour 2:
I punch some guy in the face for having the same last name as mine.  I later apologize upon realizing he is my father.

Hour 3:
I give a full explanation as to why my ex-girlfriend dumped me during a conversation I am having with a cocker spaniel in the backyard.

Hour 4:
I make plans to start a snow shovelling business with the cocker spaniel I’ve been having a conversation with in the backyard.

Hour 5:
My next door neighbour – who happens to be a Presbyterian minister – visits my house to complain about the noise.  An argument ensues and the topic is religion and how it relates to professional wrestling.  My points are well argued and tough to dispute.

Hour 6:
I’m singing songs and playing piano, despite not knowing how to do either.  No one seems to notice this fact.  Oddly enough, neither do I.

Hour 7:
I am ecstatic over the realization I can urinate upon request.  I chug down half a bottle of Lamb’s Navy Rum to celebrate.

Hour 8:
I call up John Phillips, a guy who borrowed 50 cents from me to pay for a snack at recess back in the 5^th Grade.  I tell him that if he doesn’t make restitution within the hour, me and my friends are going to go over to his house and kick the living shit out of him.

Hour 9:
I am engaged in a heated argument over who the most attractive looking girl on “Baywatch” was with guy named Sanchez in the backseat of a police cruiser.

Hour 10:
I strip off all of my clothes and go skinny dipping in a lake.  My better judgement has failed me – it is February.

Hour 11-ish?:
Ambulance rides are both scary and fun.

Hour 15:
I have my own vague memories of this hour; I am either sobering up or legally dead.