I saw a bumper sticker today that read “9/11 was an inside job!” My first reaction was to run the fucker off the road, and take a tire iron to his rusted out piece of shit Toyota. But this is America, and even douche bags enjoy freedom of speech.
I bet his buddies never ask to borrow his car.
Hey, maybe I should make some crazy ass bumper stickers. Oh, wait, no one ever asks to drive one of my cars. If they did, I would change the insurance policy to full coverage, and bleed the brake lines.
Don’t worry. I don’t even know where the brake lines are.
If you follow the SOB on Facebook or Twitter, you know I’ve confirmed the girl I see everyday is a former booty call girl. I haven’t said anything to her, but she wears a wedding ring.
Maybe I can count on her for a few references, though. I mean, I doubt chicks would ever recommend me as a Life Coach to their friends. But I might get some props when it comes to banging the headboard.
The SOB Cast Party got moved to Ozzie’s because of the weather. I saw something on Sunday I thought I would never see – guys applauding when Abby put her clothes on. Then I figured out the jacket was covering a Cubs jersey.
Thanks to MB for the new cologne. I’ve got a lot of compliments already. But whenever a girl asks what I’m wearing, it turns into some kind of Abbott and Costello routine.
“You smell good. What is it?”
“Guess.”
“I don’t know. Eternity?”
“No. Guess.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“You free for happy hour?”
Jane says, “I’ve never been in love” – no – she don’t know what it is. She only knows if someone wants her.