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The Best Bachelor Party I Never Went To

2002-04-14 - 3:01 p.m.

Ok. Yankees Suck. That's a given. And Yankees Fans suck even harder. ("Hi, Ben here, remember me? You think I'm bad now? Well before I sold my soul to the pin-stripes I actually used to be a METS fan!") So yeah, yeah, they suck. BUT I just want to take this opportunity to say that SOME Yankees fans, not many, but SOME are merely a product of their upbringing/society and can't be held responsible for their sportacular ignorance. Ok. I just wanted to get that out of the way. . .

So yeah. Work sucked like a Franklin whore yesterday. I was there for 13 hours and if I never see a marionette again it will be too soon (especially since "never" will be Tuesday night). BUT despite missing out on a beautiful day, and pretty much April 13th as a calendar day on the whole, I missed a tremendous Red Sox game/bachelor party for that handsome cad Chad Presher. I regret not getting to be there for their drunken fun with half of the Wenderoth brood, 3/4 of the immediate Presher family, and assorted LHS/UNH maroons. But, well, SOMEBODY HAS TO MAKE SURE PEOPLE ARE GETTING THEIR KITES GIFT-WRAPPED! What I wouldn't have done to be there to punch Ben in the neck (with the rest of the bleacher denizens) when Hillenbrand hit his 2-run homer or when that poster boy for mercy killing Soriano got thrown out trying to steal. Thank you Shea. Thank you for not only enriching our lives, but hurting Ben's in the process.

"Are they saying 'Go Shea!' or 'Boo-urns'?"

Man I'm gross. As usual, it's past 3 on a Sunday and I have yet to find my way to a shower. I have lots of work to do for class but with a Red Sox game on and Peter still here it's tough to want to do work. At least I have an exemplary Adult Swim line-up to look forward to. AND THEN AN EARLY GROUP PROJECT MEETING IN THE MORNING. Argh.

And Simpsons is a repeat and in an effort for the Fox suits (the same who took off Undeclared) to stab my brain with their scheduling wit even more they are airing TWO(2) times the fun tonight by broadcasting TWO NEW EPISODES OF KING OF THE HILL. King of the CRAP (as Fred, Coty and I once lovingly named it) seriously sucks the life out of me just being on televison. Even if the television isn't on, or if I'm asleep and it's playing somewhere in Montana - It Hurts. The fact that this nation is bursting with so many Nascar loving/Wal-Mart inhabiting freaks drains my soul. Especially since I'm related to many of them. Seriously - Hood House has GOT to be in cahoots with Fox. Oh well, more time for me to do work I guess. Oh, hoo-ray.

Hmmmm, my passport just mysteriously showed up after going missing after our trip to the Panic Room/Montreal. Ahhhh. . .it brought back warm fuzzy memories of Jello and their $20 martinis and bathrooms with no doors. Oh those French, is there nothing they can't la muck up?

Well, off to work on my project(s) (but really procrastinate some more, eventually take a shower, read the Globe and burn a CD)

It's been real,

Pitco

ps - "Payback's a bitch." - Peter Farmer

pps - "Oh my god. She punched me. I can't believe she punched me. I'll never wash this arm again. Well, at least less than usual." - Zach's brain

ppps - "Very superstitious, writings on the wall . . ." - Stevie Wonder

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2002 - 2009 ZQF8

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