Oops, no Goulash yesterday. Here's what I did: woke up, went to class, then had my volleyball skillz ridiculed by some fat guy. Apparently, the fat boy didn't know that I perform much the same in both athletic events and amorous activities: with great enthusiasm, but no skill whatsoever. Maybe he would've realized that if he joined the rest of us at the pre-game make out session in the parking lot. Not only that, but I gave up on all sports when the XFL disbanded. I thought about telling all of this to the obese volleyball virtuoso, but there are just too many syllables there to properly combat his hootin' and hollerin'. Instead, I planned on yelling out, "Heeeeyyyy, why don't you put a sock in it, volleyball Tommy Lasorda?" In the heat of the moment, Mr. Lasorda was the only fat dude I could conjure up in my imagination. Luckily, I accidentally kicked sand in my own face before I could manage to scream that out.
I'm not sleeping very well in my lodgings here at the flophouse. To make up for it, I decided to pull off a little nappy nap this afternoon, and it got intense. When I woke up, I was all sweaty and the sheets were strewn all over the place. The TV blared a soccer match broadcast from Telemundo. At first, I had no idea where I was. Then, I saw a wad of dollar bills on the nightstand, and it all started coming together. Clearly, I was waking up from a lengthy stint in the illicit world of male prostitution.
Eventually, I was able to piece together all of the clues (C# books on the desk, a turtleneck monogrammed with my name, my Alf thermos) and deduce that I was in Dallas in my hotel room, and I'd merely been a party to one hellacious napping session. That's good, because the other option meant I'd have to dye my hair and change my name to escape my sordid past. We all know how complicated those situations turned out to be.
Here's how I see that scenario working out.
To the citizens of Snowy Falls, ND, I'd be mild-mannered Lazlo Turnipheart, the night manager of the Citgo. But then, one terrible night, an unexpected visitor would remind me of my stint as Cody Coconuts, notorious Dallas streetwalker. To protect the kindly retarded boy I'd adopted, I'd have to shoot the stranger with a harpoon gun and bury him in Old Man Knudsen's grain silo, only to be stopped midway through by Cus McGorkin, the lovable township of the province. "We can do this my way or yours, Cus," I'd say. Then I'd I throw grain in his eyes and run towards Saskatchewan.
As you can see, that's a lot more than a weekend's worth of activity. So, as I say so often, allow me to give thanks that I'm only a ferocious napper, and not a cog in the licentious underworld of the streets.
Posted by Cody at August 25, 2004 7:20 PM