Bojin' It

Consider my tooth lengthened! The procedure itself was a little uncomfortable, but they gave me a grocery bag full of medicine for it and as a result, not only did I feel no pain but I no longer remember my birthday.

I managed to make it to Dumpy's bachelor party in my post-surgery state. How was the party when I was the only guy there who couldn't drink? Simply outstanding. I don't feel like I missed anything at all, and it was kind of interesting to be the voice of reason at a social gathering. What's even better, I was able to stay up until 6 AM playing blackjack and I only felt like 25% poop the next day, as opposed to the traditional 190%. I don't want to shock anyone, but I'm going to be rocking booze-free evenings quite a bit in the future. I'm cheap and I don't like hangovers; if I'm looking to enter any altered states, I'll just pay a vagrant to throw rocks at my head.

What really kicked the weekend up a notch was a little game called Boj It. Basically, the point of Boj It is to create dirty rhymes and then tack the words "Boj it" onto the end. Example: When you're feeling randy and she's looking like a dandy, Boj it.

That's actually a terrible, terrible Boj It example because they're usually a thousand times more offensive and terrifying; I'm not sharing any of my A material here because I hope to stay out of jail for the present. Yesterday on the ride from Shreveport to Dallas, four of us played a three hour game of Boj It that, if transcribed, would probably be enough to keep all of us from ever speaking to a woman ever again. About three minutes into it, the conversation went to a weird place and then it just camped out there. I want to give highlights here. I really, really want to, but I have a feeling that an anonymous website will surface in the future with a full catalog of Boj Its, so I'll wait for that and temporarily keep from further sullying my name. Anyway, it was a great way to do a road trip.

Nothing too interesting is brewing this week, although I do have last night's episode of the Sopranos to look forward to. My dad sent me an email, and I tried not to read it. I did happen to see Silvio mentioned. For the love of God, nobody hurt Silvio or Paulie Walnuts. My idea is that when the series ends, those two open up a hat shop in Buffalo and live together in a little apartment above the store. If you think the mafia stuff is riveting, wait until you see them argue about bowlers for thirty minutes.