The Traveling Underpants

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Missed Connection

Hi.

You were standing in front of me in the Subway at Miller and Indian School. The only reason I noticed is because you were wearing a black tube top which revealed an ample and well-received chest. Perhaps you noticed me pretending not to stare at it? The only reason I mention it now is because you eventually smiled at me, which I’m fairly certain meant you were open to a relationship, even if it was just a brief, unplanned one shortly after your combo lunch deal.

I think you initially smiled because the sandwich maker refused to give me a foot-long steak with cold meat because “it was against store policy” and he “couldn’t let me walk out the door with unheated steak”. You wordlessly conveyed the familiar “What a Nazi!” sentiment with nothing but an expression. Of course, I had no idea how to follow up your receptive demeanor, a demeanor which was augmented by the amount of visible tattoos that clearly implied you did not take life so seriously that you were opposed to casual sex in the middle of the day with a stranger. Oh, I just stood there and nodded. I admit… I blew it.

At his point, I understand I don’t deserve a second chance. However, something about the length of your fingernails, absurd glossiness of your lipstick, pierced nose... I don’t really know, but something suggested there may at least be a wealth of pictures of you on the internet somewhere. Maybe you can send me a link and perhaps a free password?

Thou Shalt Covet Your Neighbor

as related by Thomas L. Nordstrom*

My wife, Denise, and I were taking a walk around the greenbelt the other day when we came across a neighbor of ours named Gary. Gary knows my wife from the PTA and from last weekend when they fucked. I should know. I was there. In fact, I videotaped it.
Much has been made of neighborhoods and neighbors, and of the fact that no longer do neighbors know each other. My neighbors and I may not share recipes or sit together on front porches, but we do relate in another way.

It’s funny to think that all of this started when another neighbor of ours named Vince introduced himself at the mailboxes. He gave me a firm handshake that lingered and before I knew it he was rubbing my shoulders. Needless to say I was intrigued and now there isn’t a neighbor on my block that I do not know. And by know, I mean know carnally. And by carnally, I mean that I’ve had sex with all of them. Even stodgy, old Mr. Wellington.

To be honest, I didn’t know what to think about the guy, but now after I had a threeway with him and his wife, we’ve become really good friends. It turns out he’s a big time sports fan like me.

I’m proud to know my neighbors. I think it’s better this way. Our private trysts and sexual escapades have brought us closer together as a community. No longer do I walk head down to the mailbox. Now, I’m fucking the mailperson. Her name is Betty. Nice gal.

*An alias given to protect Jim Patterson, HOA Ombudsman

Silent Hill Street Blues

Comparing any two movies based on video games is kind of like comparing the two great polar metal epics of the late 80’s – Iron Maiden’s “Stranger in a Strange Land” (about a caveman waking up after centuries frozen in a glacier) and Metallica’s “Trapped Under Ice” (about slowly drowning under a sheet of ice). They are both equal, except that the songs are equally awesome, while any two movies based on video games are equally crappy. Silent Hill will do nothing to invalidate this equation. The only thing these types of movies have going for them is that they can try to write their horrible computer effects off as an “homage” to their origins. But as usual, as in this case, they quickly become a reminder of where only source material this lame could possibly come from. Positively, the one place that Silent Hill differentiates itself is that if you think about it for a little while (not recommended), it almost makes sense. Most people who rent this are probably just looking to get their Bean on (Sean plays the dad) and he’s barely in it, anyway.