True Enough For You

Check your thighs in the mirror, ma. I'm done.

Friday, April 22, 2005

"I Am Going to Blog the Shit Out of This."

It’s no secret that I am a really nice guy and that it’s pretty awesome to be my friend. Ask around; my friends will tell you, and I am fairly certain that most of them would actually use the word “awesome.” Sometimes my friends like to press their luck and test out how awesome I am. And when it comes to being awesome? I rise to the challenge.

Last night JC called me and told me I was hanging out with him. I told him I had other plans; Thursday night, after all, is an important night for reality television program. He continued calling me, and finally I succumbed to the siren calls of the cell phone (mine plays “The Safety Dance”). When I answered the phone, I could tell he was wasted. I knew thanks to some subtle clues. He said, “I’m Wasted! And I am at Pure.” Pure, for those of you not gay enough to understand, is the world’s nastiest afterhours club. It looks like a Trading Spaces episode gone horribly wrong- plywood slathered with garish paint colors everywhere you look. Under no circumstances is it ok to be there on a Thursday night at 10:30 pm. Obviously, something was wrong with JC. He demanded that he would be staying at my apartment that night where we would “share my twin bled and totally make out.” I told him I would rather shoot myself and that I would drive him out to heinous Norristown. If JC were wasted enough to be at Pure at this hour, there is no telling what he could have done to me in my apartment.

He also called JD. JD and I worked out a plan to rein him in and isolate him to a street corner where I could get him into my car. I handed him a plastic bag when I found him and said, courtesy of Garth Algar, “If you’re going to spew, spew in to this.” He also asked me not to blog about any of this. Oops. The resulting car ride was obnoxious, as JC tried to throw the contents of my car out the window. He also threatened to jump out of the car, but I didn’t protest this as much as when he threatened to throw my CDs out. He grabbed my package and gave me twenty bucks. I kept the money, and he told me I would never live that down. I found it curious that he thought I would be the one who wouldn’t live the evening down. I thought I earned the money and that he should actually have given me much more. He also told me that one of his friends thinks I am douche-bag. JC, though entertaining, has yet to master the concept of drunk graciousness. We got him back to Norristown, where he implored us to come inside and eat brownies and watch Faulty Towers (“funniest fucking shit ever on tv”) or Star Wars (“the original, thank you very much). We declined and begged him to leave the car. His constitution, which eroded by the mile apparently, was too weak to annoy us any more. And thus, he left. But before he left, what did he call me? That’s right. He said I was awesome. That’s just how I roll.

Epilogue: After I crawled in to bed, he called to thank me again and told me I should blog about it. He even insisted that the title should be “I an going to blog the shit out of this.” As predicted, he threw up “all over the damn place.” This morning he called several times to offer a not so contrite apology for his behavior. It’s all good.

I met a delightful lesbian couple on the street yesterday, hanging out with a friend of mine from college. They live a couple of buildings down the block from me. I was on my way home from work and on the way to Bump Happy Hour with KC, when I started talking to the Sapphic trio. They have 2 dogs named Spike and Charlie, and I will not hold that against them. I am determined to have neighbor friends by the time summer rolls around, even if they are lesbians. I kid! I kid!

American Idol is under siege!!! Scandal is about to erupt on America’s favorite show, as one former contestant claims that he and Paula bumped drug-addled fuzzies in exchange for career help. I know, right? He says that she wanted to be “special friends” but that they had to keep it a secret. Allegedly, and to no one’s surprise, she also got all up on Justin Gaurini, likely before the release of From Justin to Kelly.

Gays: When you become Pope, bring it! Ratzinger: It’s already been broughten!

Lest we underestimate the Rottweiler, Pope Benedict XVI, Shepherd of Christ’s flock has already thrown the gauntlet down regarding the gays. He denounces Spain’s actions to make gay marriage and adoption legal and warns the clergy to stay on the side of tradition and ignore the new law or risk their livelihoods as clergy. Sweet. Dude, you've been Pope for like four days! Spain, incidentally, will become the first European country to legalize gay marriage AND adoption. It’s a pretty darn secular (and egalitarian) thing for a country with such a strong Roman Catholic tradition to do. It will be interesting to see what the reaction will be to the hellfire and brimstone musings of the newest Pontiff. The Honduran would so not have been this much of a petulant baby! All this occurs as former as former Spanish colony, called Texas, fights to make gay adoption illegal, now that there is so much time since executing retards and teens has been ruled unconstitutional. Popes Benedict and Bush are likely quite proud. Awesome.


  • At 7:19 PM, Blogger Anh said…

    What Would Jesus Do?

  • At 12:06 PM, Anonymous Jacob (JC) said…

    It is commonplace for when such defamatory remarks are made against them that a defense of some magnitude is mounted. No such defense will be implemented in this case, for it is all true. But you the reader to bear in mind the author. If you are reading this, I will assume you have at the very least some vested interest in Zach. Even a casual relationship with this self-proclaimed “purveyor of wit and wisdom” will leave you with feelings of elation and joy…..until you see his apartment. Hands down, Zach’s apartment is the filthiest place on earth – very out of character for a gay man (but he is from Peckville).

    Zach’s friends have analogized me to a drug addict (you know who you are). But I have to ask you: what’s worse? Me getting extremely, obnoxiously drunk on occasion (of which we are all guilty) or Zach’s apartment?


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