DJ: The Elliot Spitzer prostitute flow chart.
Me: See, now this is why I hate society. I mean, who cares if he buys a whore? Aside from killing her I am cool with it. Even then, it is circumstances such as these that killing a hooker seems acceptable.
DJ: So basically you just want a class of disposable people?
Me: Have you ever been inside a Wal-Mart Super Center on a weekend? I would say we are already there.
DJ: Nice.

Labels: dj, im convos, pop culture, whores

Saturday saw the send off for my buddy Wil who is walking the Earth for the next six months to a year. He will return home whenever his money or his transsexual hooker sugar daddy connections dry up (literally). We procured a limo for his last evening in the city and took a dive bar tour of Denver in style. Some highlights:

• The limo was compliments of one of my work clients who hooked us up with an amazing deal. He gave us a two week old Mercedes Benz limo for the night and stocked it with complimentary beer, gin, whiskey and champagne. The whip was so new that the stereo could only play CDs as the sound system was like the Death Star in Return Of The Jedi and not yet fully operational. We only brought one CD between the seven of us. Said CD was a shitty local techno band and ended up being fired from the limo window by night's end.
• At My Brother's Bar, they have bacon listed as a menu item.
• Number of individuals in our group that ordered bacon: 2.
• Number of individuals that asked the waitress to "Look away" as he attempted to pick up and eat a strip of bacon that fell of the floor: 1.
• The Hilltop, my favorite college-era haunt, did not fail to disappoint (except for the omission of "Ballad Of The Green Berets" from the jukebox which was the traditional way to close all drinking benders back in the day). While walking into the bar a guy came out yelling "Who needs some blow? Some meth? Some X?" While sitting at the bar some troll-looking kid was attempting to start a fight with the a gentleman three times his size. The bartender encouraged smoking after asking if we were cops and than proceeded to light up and "fuck the anti-smoking laws."
• Changing the name of a strip club from Cheerleaders to The Player's Club does not make your joint instantly classier. You still have to wash the vomit and sweaty ass from the carpet.
• Number of individuals in our group that had their wife pick them up from The Player's Club: 1.
• Number of individuals in our group that lost an electronic device sometime during the night: 2.
• Number of individuals in our group that were called by the limo company with the whereabouts of their lost electronic device: 1.

Be sure to rubber up in the jungle, Wil. Once you establish your white warlord presence in Belize, we will be down to slaughter cattle with machetes in front of the locals as a lesson not to cross you. In short, be safe and enjoy your adventures.

Labels: bacon, decadence, denver, dj, drinking, ez, jake, wil

Me: The wife asked me yesterday, "If a comet were to hit the earth tomorrow and end all life as we knew it what would I do with my last day on earth?"
DJ: What did she say?
Me: "I would have a big dinner with all our family and friends."
DJ: What did you say?
Me: "I would pick up a whore and kill her. Then I would come to that dinner."
DJ: I can almost hear her squeal "Matty!"
Me: She did. I am totally and completely serious, though.
DJ: I know.
Me: I would not even have to hide the body.
DJ: Take the body to dinner with you and prop it up at the table.
Me: Even better. "Who is that, Matty?"
DJ: "Dead whore. Pass the butter?"
Me: As in, asking the dead whore to pass me the butter? Because that would rule. "Dead whore, can you please lead us in grace?"
DJ: Then just sit there in silence for a moment while everyone stares at you all freaked out. Then look up and say, "Amen."
Me: I am glad you are my friend.

Labels: dj, im convos, whores, wife

DJ: This zombie link is amazing. I need to start taking science classes so I can amass a fortune, run a cemetery and do zombie experiments. Vast sums of money are being poured into nano-technology. Sure, at some level scientists know nano-bots will destroy mankind. They just cannot resist seeing how it happens.
Me: I am all for it. I would not mind being a zombie at all. You get to eat brains, have lots of friends and cannot die easily.
DJ: Technically you have to die once - horribly - but yeah, after that, you are gold. I am not so sure you would recognize things like 'friends' but then you probably would not care either. Of course you would not recognize things like 'house payments' and 'Yankees' and the other horrors that we confront daily.
Broz: Right.
DJ: Zombie Jeter would be pretty cool.
Broz: Totally.
DJ: Eating the brain of A-Rod and then introducing zombie A-Rod to zombie anal. Better, introducing A-Rod to anal and then to the zombie world and then to zombie anal. Mostly because I want A-Rod's last thought to be, "Zombie Jeter just put his cock in my ass, there is nothing I can do about it and it hurts like hell."
Broz: Ha! And wow. Zombie sex would be amazing. Here is why: you can do things in the zombie world that are taboo in the non-zombie world. Like rip a bitches arm off and fuck the shoulder socket. And than beat her with the arm. And than eat the arm.
DJ: Wow. I am at Caribou Coffee now and dying laughing. People are starting to look.
Broz: You are welcome.

Labels: dj, im convos, zombies

• Friends Made: Ming the Hooters Casino High Roller who bet $1000 a hand at Pai Gow.
  
• Enemies Made: a black stripper from the Spearmint Rhino and a fat pit boss named Bill.
• Best Quote From Dave: "Right now I have more alcohol in me than sense."
• Best Quote From Erik: "When I see you again I will buy you $100 in bourbon."
• Seen In Abundance: Wisconsin fans, hooker trading cards and fake boobs.
• Seen In Scarcity: Street sweepers, museums and my judgment.
• New Coined Marketing Slogan To Be Sold To The Las Vegas Chamber Of Commerce: Welcome to the Sex Ashtray.
• Gambling Maxims Proven Correct: Never hit on 13, respect the sixes and a "push" is a win.
• Gambling Maxims Proven Wrong: No craps game goes seven straight rolls without making the point.
• Best Casino Game: Pai Gow, which is Chinese for Slow Money Bleed Super Happy Fun Drink Time.
  
• Worst Casino Game: Money Drop, or as it is more popularly known "Let It Ride."
• Best Run: Six and a half hours at a Pai Gow table on $40 that yielded countless free drinks, death threats from dealers named Gene, screams of free Hooters calendars and chicken wings, continual verbal assaults directed towards a fat pit boss named Bill and eventually, free Hooters T-shirts and shot glasses that Ming the Hooters Casino High Roller charged to his room.
• Worst Run: Ten minutes at a craps table that took $100.
• Best Eats: Steaks at Mon Ami Gabi and Bailey's ice cream shakes.
• Worst Eats: My bag of Fritos and pack of Starbursts for dinner and Will's infamous "last breakfast" from Nathan's which consisted of a chili dog, a handful of soggy crinkle fries and twelve over-cooked chicken wings.
  
• Best Sports Bet: Wil for putting it on UNLV to cover the spread versus Wisconsin.
• Worst Sports Bet: Me for putting $20 on the Colorado Avalanche to win the 2008 Stanley Cup.
• Years On My Life That The Trip Took Off : Two.

Labels: dj, drinking, ez, gambling, tomfoolery, vegas, wil

My former coworkers and I have been waxing philosophically on all manner of things over the past week. This picture of vintage supermarket butchers spawned the following diatribe from DJ:

Do you want to work for the Food-O-Mat? Because I kind of do. It's the uniform. Chicks dig a man in uniform. Those were the days; when you could trust your butcher. You wanted a steak, you got a goddamn, corn-fed, natural raised cow slaughtered with love, gently carved up by Americans using American chainsaws, producing a piece of meat the butcher was happy to hand you and you were proud to serve your family. Shortly after this picture was taken I'm pretty sure Alice (the housekeeper from The Brady Bunch) started banging Mel the Butcher and suddenly the butcher was a star and too busy to take pride in his work. Eventually all the butchers were trying to bang housekeepers. With nobody around to keep the ranchers in check the quality of meat went down and the terrorists started winning. I'm not saying Alice and The Brady Bunch aided the terrorists or brought us into our current war, but they were there, man. They were there.

Labels: dj, tomfoolery, unemployment