This afternoon an awesome spring thunderstorm tore through downtown Denver and briefly turned the streets into a mess of gridlock and moisture (watching poor bastards drive through almost two feet of rushing water on 19th was the highlight of my day). Dig on these two shots of the affair. The event even caused stoppage in my hyper-laborious coworkers. Nature's wrath demands attention even from the most over-worked and under-sexed.

Labels: downtown, rain

Last night our kitty threw down with a neighbor cat that wandered into our backyard (the wife described the interloper as twice her size and black). I was upstairs on the computer when I heard the ruckus. The wife bolted out the back door after the whirlwind of fur, fangs and claws to break it up. The felines were spry and the fight quickly spilled over the fence and into the neighbors yard leaving no time for the wife to hurl a broom javelin style between the cats like my late grandfather Broz. Kitty came strolling to the back door an hour later seemingly unfazed by the scrap. Further inspection revealed a bloody back paw and a claw that had been snapped off (hopefully in her opponents face). Her psychological well being seemed off the rest of the night (moreso than usual) and we were concerned she tangled with some diseased pussy. To our relief, she woke us this morning in her normal manner; laying on our faces, licking our faces and purring like a chain saw. We can only hope she clawed the eyes out of her opponent and taught it a lesson.

Labels: kitty, the greens, wife

On the corner of 16th and Welton a man by the name of Claude has been operating a shoe shine business for eight years. He has a small, tattered shine box and likes to yell at passersby regarding the nature of their footwear. I have been wanting to get a pair of my shoes shined by Claude for a couple of weeks now but he is usually swamped with the Mall lunch rush. Yesterday, I was finally able to get the shine I was desiring. Upon resting my foot on his shine box he immediately went into a sales pitch about a lifetime membership (he normally charges $6 a shine). A suit was skulking behind me with a bag of shoes for Claude to shine. The suit commented that Claude had been shining his shoes for years and he was the best there is. He added that paying a $60 Lifetime fee is money well spent. Claude told me after the suit walked off, "I charge assholes like that twice as much for a 'lifetime'. For you? I'll knock it down to $30. But don't tell nobody." I haggled him down to $20. Included in my lifetime membership is free shines anytime (plus tip), shoe drop-off (he will shine up to four pairs and call you when they are ready) and free shines for any ladies I bring to the shine box. During my shine Claude dropped some gems:

To a young kid with a pair of beat up brown loafers:
"Damn, man. How long you had them shoes?"
"Two weeks."
"Two weeks??! Shit. I hate to see what your underwear looks like."

To a guy walking next to an attractive woman:
"Hey girl. Look how he treat his shoes. You think he gonna treat you any better?"

To a hot Asian woman in a mini-skirt:
"You look like my third ex-wife. I've only been married twice."

As I walked off Claude called to me, "Thanks Lifetime! See you soon." Indeed, my good man. Indeed.

Labels: 16th street mall, denver, downtown

The wife and I have spent the past two weeks cutting through underbrush, overgrown shrubbery and raking decomposing piles of leaves. While the previous occupants showered the inside of the house with the love and tenderness of a small child stroking a teddy bear (they installed new commodes, tile, stove/range and paint), they let the yard work go like a seventeen year old girl's body during her freshman year of college. Tomorrow morning Waste Management might actually enjoy stopping at our house as there will not be throngs of black trash bags filled with four years of neglected landscaping. Then again there are three recycling bins filled with dead soldiers thanks to the goddamn the alcoholics I play poker with.

Labels: the greens, wife

Half naked baby and cobra fight! I have to give the win to cobra. Sure, half naked baby stood her ground, took some strikes to the head and made a valiant effort, but she was dancing around and playing defense during the entire contest. Cobra was on the attack through out the fight, utilizing Rommel's "the best defense is a good offense" philosophy. Half naked baby knew she was in trouble and went in for the hug to stave off a flurry of head shots. Apparently half naked baby was trained by Roberto Duran.

Labels: fighting, tomfoolery

First and foremost; it's called lotion. Look into getting yourself some. The skin on your legs looks like the leather on a catchers mitt that hasn't been oiled in twenty years. Your knees are more dry and calloused than a constructions worker's hands. Aren't all women supposed to be moisturizing themselves with fervor? My wife has at least twenty five tubes of lotion spread around in strategic locations. There must be five alone in her purse. After you are done stuffing your cake chute with that sandwich, walk down to the Walgreens and pick up some Jergens. Preferably with Aloe. That leads me into my next issue; your mouth. Are you hearing the shit that is coming out of it? Seriously. You live in Wash Park. I get it. The entire lunch crowd on 16th Street gets it. You loudly proclaimed it three times in casual conversation to your coworker as if it was a badge of honor. Congratulations. You live in an awesome neighborhood in a house that is one hundred years old, has shitty square footage, no garage, rusty plumbing and bad wiring that you cannot afford to update because you spend all your income on a ridiculous mortgage. I am really proud of you. What's that you say? You need to get out and run around the park to lose some weight so you look good in a bikini this summer? You have child bearing hips and a sperm bag, honey. Even with a stringent exercise routine and a crash diet that does not allow you to eat your coworker's leftover Reuben, nothing short of cutting your head off and putting it atop Jessica Alba's body would make you look good in a bikini. Even then. Your mouth would still be attached to the head. I suppose we could sew your mouth shut. That would definitely make you more attractive. Still, it is your head. Your thoughts, opinions and twisted views on reality are still in there. That settles it, then. Even with your head atop Jessica Alba's body, you still would not look good in a bikini. Finally, I direct this parting shot to the clueless gentleman sitting across from you. Please do not encourage her anymore. Your leading questions and weak compliments are only exacerbating the situation. Do you need a slump buster this bad? Just pay for sex with a transvestite hooker and get it over with. Nobody will fault you, man. Especially a guy just trying to read the paper and enjoy his Italian sub.

Labels: 16th street mall, downtown, open letter, rage

• A camouflage "fuck" hat with "fuck" written in Old English lettering; its says your are classy but you also know how to party.
• A cartoon about Mormon Theology. I am going to teach my kids that they owe it to the world to defile at least one Latter Day Saint in their lifetime.
• Spiders crawl into boy's ear. Hijinks ensue.

Labels: link goodness, mormons, pop culture, tomfoolery

Nameless Elevator Rider #1: I hate snow. We had an inch and half of it on the ground when I woke up this morning.
Nameless Elevator Rider #2: We didn't get any snow at our house.
Nameless Elevator Rider #1: (angrily) Well you don't live in Conifer.
My Thought Bubble: Conifer. Eight thousand feet above sea level. In the Rocky Mountains. Where it snows at least eight months out of the year. You dumb bitch.

Labels: colorado, downtown

Tonight the wife and I will be attending the Gwen Stefani concert at the Pepsi Center and joining throngs of anorexic sorority sisters whacked out on Dexatrim, underage girls adorned in midriff shirts and flaming homosexual men badly singing, "This shit is bananas, B-A-N-A-N-A-S!" I bought her the tickets for Valentines Day after scoring a sweet deal on StubHub that will put us in the fifteenth row. This should be a close enough to turn the wife into a blubbering mess of drunken fan girl as well as fill my masturbatory database for a solid year after catching shots of dew and early morning fur from the Pussycat Dolls.

Post-Concert Update: A Gwen Stefani fan demographic I completely overlooked yesterday: lesbians. Namely, hardcore, golf coaching, femullet sporting, hardware store lesbians. We were lucky enough to sit next to a fun couple that fit into this aforementioned classification. Not only were they friendly, half drunk and had a great sense of humor; they enjoyed making out during most of Gwen's ballads. I was saddened to learn the Pussycat Dolls were not opening (I was fed misinformation) and instead had to listen to the verbal abortion that is Lady Sovereign. Akon took the stage next and was solid all around save for the ten minutes he gave the mic to some Beyoncce-wannabe hack signed to his label that sucked the life out of the crowd. Akon sang about the ghetto and being in love with strippers and made countless inquires to the female audience members while taking off a shirt saying, "Ladies are you ready for this?" Eventually he got rid of the shirt all together and informed us it was alright to do so because he goes to the gym and gets "his fitness right." Gwen took the stage amid the piercing shrieks of thousands of middle school girls and proceeded to dominate the set. She was at her best when the show antics were at a minimum (she had a troupe of break dancers and Japanese girls doing all sorts of shit behind her) and did one song in the middle of the crowd (much to delight of the folks sitting in general admission). She accidentally called Colorado "Utah" in the middle of a song, but she made up for it by mocking herself for the slip up afterward and displaying her naked, shredded midriff and scantily-covered "mom" boobs for the rest of the night. Overall I would say it was a great performance. Walking out of the venue we ran into my best friend growing up and his girlfriend (he also bought her the tickets for Valentines Day) and we decided to stop into Brooklyns for "a drink." After downing six beers each we then headed home.

Labels: l-i-v-i-n, lesbians, music, pop culture, wife