2008 Recap!

JANUARY: Accidentally contracted progressive inflammatory neuropathy from inhaling aerosolized pig brains while working in a slaughterhouse in southern Minnesota. Was cured by one of my Somali coworkers who applied a poultice of dried khat and the menses of a blind, uncircumcised virgin. At least he said I was cured. Come to think of it…

FEBRUARY: Celebrated the unofficially semi-official resignation of Fidel Castro by getting completely shit-faced with a bunch of Mexicans. It turns out what they were celebrating was a tie between the U.S. and Mexican national teams in a cup qualifier. And since it was a tie they weren't so much celebrating as getting a yanque loaded and leaving him passed out in a pile of snow.


MARCH: Fought a midget over a pack of cherry Twizzlers. Lost the fight, but gained a friend.


APRIL: Sleepy

MAY: Drove a lot. Cut my underpants off with a dull knife in the bathroom of The Middle East in Boston. Got a manicure in Harvard Square. Walked around Manhattan with a semi-permanent erection. Rediscovered what low-grade racist shit heads the citizens of Philadelphia are. Made a fool of myself in front of my parents in Baltimore. Ate good seafood.


JUNE: George Carlin died on the 22nd of this month. Nothing of equal consequence occurred to myself or anyone else on the planet Earth.


JULY: Traveled to Sydney to celebrate World Youth Day with Pope Benedict XVI. After dozens of hits of amyl nitrate the pontiff admitted that thanks to him the famed missing Nazi gold was in the Vatican's possession and was being used to settle the many priest sexual abuse lawsuits. I threatened to call Leonard Nimoy. Then he bad-touched me.


AUGUST: XXIXIIIVXC Summer Olympiad in Beijing. (Skipped IOC-mandated course on Roman numerals.) Took Silver in team Fencing. Thought I caught SARS. Turned out it was the effects of smoking too many counterfeit Marlboros. Should have realized this, as "Marlboro" is rarely spelled with multiple "Qs" Stopped at the border as I attempted to leave the country with a child-bride. "Child-bride" was in fact 42-years-old. It was her adult children who filed the complaint. All-around bad trip.


SEPTEMBER: Spent the 7th Anniversary of 9/11 in Crawford, TX doing blow with George W. Bush. Learned the true meaning of "clearing brush" from a few of daughter Jenna's sorority sisters. Bonged a shit-ton of Lone Star. Was ritually hunted by Ted Nugent. All-around good trip.


OCTOBER: Discovered the joy of pressing autumn leaves into scrapbooks! Also, discovered a massive leak in my trucks exhaust system. My physician thinks the two may be related.


NOVEMBER: Finally became old enough to be elected President. Was not, however, elected President. They gave it to some other guy.


DECEMBER: In light of my failure to be elected President I decided to abandon democratic ideals altogether. Traveled to the Channel Island of Sark in an effort to prop-up the last remaining feudal system in Europe. Disappointed to discover there were no knights on horseback there, as I had arrived dressed as a knight on horseback. Did see one guy with a silver shirt and a cricket helmet driving a golf cart. I challenged him to a tournament and was promptly arrested. Decided the islanders of Sark deserved democracy-- and all its attendant indignities. Flew home sans horse to discover there was no beer in my fridge. One last trip to the liquor store as the year fades into memory.


(have a nice New Year)
BDS 12.31.
08

My Letter to Joaquin Phoenix

(From November 6, 2008)

Dear Mr. Phoenix,

I am writing with regard to your recent decision to forgo acting in films to concentrate on a career in music. Good for you!

You have referred to music as, "greener pastures" and you couldn't be more right.

In light of that I would like to tender a modest proposal. I have been playing music for going on twenty years, and if you would care to I thought we could just "switch" jobs.

I could move to your big, expensive Manhattan "apartment," and you could come to Minneapolis and live in my tiny little box of a place.

I could be paid outrageous sums of money to squint, bob my head around the way you do and recite heartfelt words written by someone else. You could work my day job and while you're at it, try to pay off all my debts.

I could have sex with gorgeous actresses and you could have sex with no one.

Sound good, buddy?

I'll get in touch with your people and make all the necessary arrangements. You just sit down with your guitar and get to work on some songs! After all, as you said, "…so I'm just going to try and like, I'll just be doing the other thing… Hopefully, I will emotionally impact you with that, as well."

Wow! With a degree of commitment like that, how could you fail?

Hope to see you soon, you fucking shithead!

Sincerely,

Brian David Shuey
Minneapolis, MN


P.S. You were awesome in Space Camp.

YES, I VOTED. BUT IT DOESN’T MEAN I LIKED IT.

(From November 4, 2008)

I certainly don't mind standing in line for two hours. That is no hardship, to be sure. Especially given what people in other countries have to go through to cast a vote.

What was discouraging was standing in line for two hours listening to the young couple behind me discuss for whom and why they were casting their ballots. I wish I were paraphrasing their comments. Sadly, I am not:

HER: "McCain's the only one who cares about our troops who are fighting our war."

HIM: "Yeah, but he's all old an' shit. I'm voting for the other one."


Of the three of us, I'm pretty sure the order of the cosmos would have been better served had at least ONE of us skipped the whole process and spent the afternoon watching game shows and huffing glue.

You would think I mean one of them, but I am not so sure it shouldn't have been ME.

And that's the thought that will keep me awake tonight.

Sarah Palin Visits My Alma Mater

(From October 29, 2008)

Governor Sarah Palin was in my home state yesterday, and she even graced my alma mater.

Speaking at The Luhrs Performing Arts Center at Shippensburg University she said, I assume between winks and "Aw, shuckses"*:

"We will balance the federal budget within our first term."

Really? Not unless you plan on withdrawing U.S. troops from Iraq on DAY ONE of that term-- and then as those troops return home have them stop at every house they see to look for shit they can bring back here and pawn.

"We're going to help our students afford college."

Really? Unless of course they are Iraq War vets who want to go to college on a new GI Bill, which McCain voted against.

"We'll clean up the corruption on Wall Street."

Really? You'll notice that the Treasury department has started doling-out some of the $700 billion in bailout money McCain voted for. Just how much is going to which companies (Price Waterhouse, Ernst & Young, etc.) has been REDACTED from documents released to the public.

"Your government should do more for you."

I'm sorry lady, what party do you belong to again?

"So Pennsylvania, will you hire us? Will you send us to Washington?"

Make me proud, Keystoners! Show these clowns that REAL America doesn't want them any more than those of us living in FAKE America.

BDS


*Have you noticed that Sarah Palin sounds like an out-state Minnesotan who's been hit in the head repeatedly with a brick? Would someone please give this woman a daytime talk show and be done with it!

For your amusement...

(From August 20, 2008)

I have translated the Oscar Meyer Wiener song into German:



Ich wünsche, daß ich war ein Oscar Meyer Wiener,

Das ist, was ich wirklich sein wünsche,

Für, wenn ich war ein Oscar Meyer Wiener,

Jeder würde in der Liebe mit mir sein!



Give it a try! It is surprisingly fun to sing-- and far less menacing than Deutcheland Uber Alles!

Another monent of quiet desperation

(From August 7, 2008)

So in the process of checking my email I noticed the following link: "Betty White Defends Golden Girls."

"The Golden Girls are UNDER ATTACK?" I thought.

"For what?"

The story indicated that the three remaining Golden Girls with functioning cardio-vascular systems were being called out for not attending Estelle Getty's funeral.

"Oh." I thought. "That's not such a big deal."

But before I knew it I found myself reading the COMMENT THREAD that accompanied the article.

I was a good twenty comments in before I had even realized I was doing it.

So here I was reading with no small amount of interest the opinions of anonymous strangers on a non-subject that one minute earlier I had been completely unaware of.

Is this of how little value my time and attention have become?

The internet is a dark, lonely, insidious kind of hell.

BDS

P.S. Speaking of old people, anyone else getting a bad Ross Perot smell coming off this T. Boone Pickens clown?

I swear to you, he is not to be trusted. I expect great evil from him in the future.

Just watch the cars go by.

(From July 31, 2008)

So I'm having a cigarette outside the bar. That's where you have to have them now.

There is a couple sitting a few feet away from me. They are on a date. Don't ask me how I know. I'm an adult. That's how I know.

The guy speaks loudly and animatedly on his cell phone. He has slid his chair back and slouches ever-so casually in it. He is wearing distressed jeans, a rumpled white linen shirt and a black-and-white terry-cloth headband. On his left arm (and ONLY his left arm) almost to his elbow is a matching wrist band. I am certain that this is an extremely hip way of dressing somewhere. I don't know where that might be and I hope I'm never forced by either chance or cruel circumstance to go there.

The woman across from him sits stirring her drink. Not drinking it. No longer shooting impatient glances his way. She pokes it with her finger. She rolls it around in a circular motion on its base until a little spills out. She has put on a nice dress for this. She spent no small amount of time picking out her earrings. She isn't my type, but that doesn't mean I don't appreciate that she put a little effort into herself tonight. And for the account of this dickbag.

What do I mean by "my type?"

For starters, my type would have left the minute he answered his phone.

If she would only stand up! If she would only stand up, grab his fucking iPhone and hurl it into the street! Down her drink! Better yet, down HIS drink! Kick him in the shin! Call him a cocksucker and get into the cab that has been idling on the corner waiting for fuck-knows-who for the last ten minutes.That I would cheer like a kid at a baseball game!

As the moments pass my sympathy for her turns to mild contempt. Not equal to what I feel for him, mind you. Just a, "Well, you're a grown woman for fucks-sake. If you're going to go along with this then who's the real clown in the pair?"

I should just watch the cars go by. Better that way.

AN OPEN LETTER TO MINNEAPOLIS ROOFERS

(From June 25, 2008)

Gentlemen,

I would first like to thank you for all the hard work you do. It is truly indispensable. As the impresario Sol Hurok once said, "The sky's the limit if you have a roof over your head." (Of course he was a Russian Jew, and as everyone knows they don't often repair roofs so much as fiddle on them.)

My respect for your craft not withstanding, may I offer a few hints that will no doubt improve your work experience and the experience of those around you:

1) KQRS is not the only radio station in Minneapolis. While I'm sure my Vietnamese, Mexican and Somali neighbors love Led Zeppelin as much as red-blooded American workingmen maybe give them a little KFAI once and awhile. Also, I think the computer program KQ uses to select its playlist is faulting. How else can one explain playing Wang Chung's "Dancehall Days" and AC/DC's "Back in Black" in succession. No human being or properly functioning robot would do this.

2) You shouldn't drink so much beer while roofing. I say this not out of concern for your safety, but because it tends to make you MUCH LOUDER.

3) Despite what you may have heard about the virtue of the ladies in my neighborhood, few of them will respond favorably to, "Yeah, bitch! That's the fucking stuff!" shouted from three floors up. Might I suggest flowers?

4) If your man-titties are larger than a B-cup, put your Jeff Gordon t-shirt back on.

Best wishes,

Brian David Shuey

P.S. I'd like to thank you for not hooting, barking or whistling at me when I was in the shower this morning. That showed real class.

THINGS PEOPLE TELL YOU ON THE STREET

(From June 4, 2008)

So I'm standing on the corner of 26th and Nicollet. This guy approaches and asks for a light. I oblige. And then he begins his story....

"So my little girl. Five months old, she's gonna die."

"What?"

"Yeah, she needs a kidney or she's gonna die. And I can't give it to her."

"Well, have they 'typed' you yet?"

"Naw. I just can't give it to her. You know?"

"Well..." (I paused. I had nearly asked a total stranger on the street if he had hepatitis... or worse.)

Naw, I can't give it to her. And her mom's parents say let it die, because it's black."

"Can't you do anything about it?"

"Naw, because we're not married, I can't do nothing."

"Well..."

"And I don't think I can marry her. I just don't love her like that, you know?"

"Umm..."

"I just don't love her like that...I just don't love her like that...I just don't love..."

He repeated the phrase over and over again as I walked away.

THE DECLINE AND FALL OF MR. SHUEY PT.1: TOOTH DECAY

(From May 28, 2008)

So it seems I may have a cavity. (In one of my teeth, that is.) Specifically tooth number 19. That is the first molar on the left side of the mandible. For those who don't know their teeth numbers.

This would be my FIRST cavity. Ever. In either my adult or primary/deciduous teeth.

And I am not happy about it.

For years I have smugly bragged about having avoided tooth decay for the whole of my life. Blessed with few physical gifts—save disarming good looks and a whip-smart intellect—my record of perfect dental hygiene was a selling point in the never-ending struggle to breed and produce offspring. Had I not been told at an early age that my enamel was the strongest ever encountered? So strong it would dull the mightiest dental implements. All this time I have been regaling potential mates with tales of my periodontal prowess—and how it would benefit our children in tough times ahead.

The way I saw it, in the post-apocalyptic nightmare world left over after China annihilates all remnants of North American civilization what attributes could be better suited to survival than a large brain, a short compact frame and a set of strong, sharp teeth?

Being too tall would put one at a disadvantage, as zoo-raised African predators and packs of vicious wild dogs scoured the short prairie grass in search of prey. My progeny could survive and even thrive by remaining unseen and scavenging carrion, breaking open the bones with their mighty teeth and feasting on the protein rich marrow.

In a few thousand years they would be poised to take their rightful place at the apex of a neo-Neolithic hunter/gatherer culture.

This was my theory, anyway.

But it will all be for naught should this toothache prove to be an actual breach in the structural integrity of my one remaining unassailable physical attribute.

I have a date with the X-ray machine in one week. I shall keep you all informed.

OH NO! I'M CAUGHT IN ANOTHER SEX SCANDEL

(From March 13, 2008)

So it’s happened again.

I was just trying to make a little extra money-- moonlighting as a receptionist at THE EMPEROR’S CLUB-- and whom should I end up talking to? Now former New York governor Eliot Spitzer. Here’s the transcript of our conversation, currently sealed by the Feds.

(Don’t tell them I shared it with you.)

BDS

Client 9: "Hello, I’m calling about ’Kristen.’"

Me: "Oh yes, the brunette. Yeah, she’s dishy."

Client 9: "I know she’s ’dishy.!’ I don’t need your goddamned opinion on the matter. Just set it up."

Me: "Okay. No need to get in a huff. Just making conversation."

Client 9: "I didn’t call here to talk to you, you fucking insect. I’m a busy man. Let’s just get this done."

Me: "Very well. When did you want to see her?"

Client 9: "This Thursday. I need her to be in D.C. by eight o’clock."

Me: "This Thursday? So, quite the romantic I see."

Client 9: "What? What the hell are you talking about?"

Me: "Well, Thursday is Valentine’s Day. I just think its kind of sweet that..."

Client 9: "Sweet? I’m paying for pussy you imbecile! There’s nothing sweet about it. If I were sweet I’d be spending the night with my wife."

Me: "Yes, I see your point. So, Thursday in Washington. Will you be arranging transportation?"

Client 9: "Yes, I’ll have a car there by 2 PM."

Me: "Sir, I suppose I should point out that by transporting ’Kristen’ from New York State to the District of Columbia and, well, for the purposes under which you intend to employ her, you will likely be violating the Mann..."

Client 9: "I don’t need a lecture on the fucking Mann Act! I was A-G for the entire state of... Wait, forget that last part."

Me: "Forget what part, Prince Charming?"

Client 9: "Listen, if anyone asks, I’m Rudy Giuliani."

Me: "Whatever you say, sir. Now how would you like to pay?"

Client 9: "Same as always, I’ll wire the four thousand to your account."

Me: "I’m sorry sir, but an hour of ’Kristen’s’ time bills-out at five thousand."

Client 9: "Five thousand! Fuck you!"

Me: "So you really want to do this? Try to haggle with me over the price?"

Client 9: "Listen you turd, I didn’t get where I am by taking the first thing that’s offered. Last time we met-up I could still smell the Saudi on her. I want a price cut. Forty-three hundred tops."

Me: "Very well, sir. Forty-three it is. (Quietly) Something tells me she’s going to be able to spin your little encounters into quite a lot more-- and soon, too."

Client 9: "What was that?"

Me: "Oh nothing, sir. ’Kristen’ will be waiting at the usual pick-up spot. Have a safe and pleasant Valentine’s Day."

HOLSTER THAT CASH CARD, TWINKLE-TOES

(From March 9, 2008)

So all I want is a refill on my coffee. There are four people in line in front of me. Each pays for their sub-$5 purchase with a credit card. Adding about 2/12 minutes to my wait.

Fucking peckerheads.

This is happening more and more lately.

Are people honestly taking those, "Life Takes Visa" commercials to heart?

Maybe it's just the economy.

Either way, I want my fucking time back.

My time is, "PRICELESS."

(Where's my MASTERCARD commercial?)

Perhaps the U.S. Treasury should start doing commercials for CASH.

Here's one: "Cash. The people behind you in line will hate you less."

Or this: "Cash. So your wife's lawyer won't know what seedy hotel your banging your secretary in."

Just a thought.

ALEX AND STEVE AND ROCK AND ROLL

(From February 21, 2008)

Steve: "Fuck dude, really?"

Alex: "Fuckin-A-Right, really!"

Steve: "Naw way, man."

Alex: "Totally for fucking real, dude! Heroin Sheiks, the Blind Shake and The Dynamiters."

Steve: "Who the fuck are The Dynamiters? Was any of them in The Cows?"

Alex: "No, but the one dude was in The Freedom Fighters."

Steve: "Aw, no way! I remember those dudes."

Alex: "And two of the other dudes were in The Selby Tigers"

Steve: "See, now they were kinda faggy."

Alex: "Dude, you just don't like feelings an shit."

Steve: "No, I just don't like dudes in little scarfs."

Alex: "Cause of how it makes you feel?"

Steve: "Fuck you, bitch!"

Alex: (blows kiss)

Steve: "Now the Blind Shake, they're awesome an shit. Did you know the one dude plays football, but is also all smart and shit?"

Alex: "I think they're all pretty smart."

Steve: "Yeah, but they don't ALL play football."

Alex: "Which one plays football?"

Steve: "I don't know, one of the brothers."

Alex: "I thought they were ALL brothers."

Steve: "Naw dude, the two dudes without hair are brothers."

Alex: "Yeah, that makes sense"

(long pause)

Steve: "We should smoke a little coke before the show."

Alex: "You got coke?"

Steve: "No."

Alex: "You got money for coke?"

Steve: "Not now, but fucking Friday is fucking pay day, dude!"

Alex: "Nice! We will smoke the shit out of some coke and head down to the T-Rock!"

Steve: "You gotta drive though, dude. I still haven't gotten my license back yet."

Alex: "Fucker!"

SATURDAY FEBRUARY 23

THE TRIPLE ROCK SOCIAL CLUB
629 CEDAR AVE S
MINNEAPOLIS, MN 55454
612.333.SEXY


HEROIN SHEIKS

THE BLIND SHAKE

THE DYNAMITERS

I mean, come on. Fuck, dude. Really.

BDS

FATTY GETS AN EXERCYCLE

(From January 17, 2008)

So I bought an exercise bike the other day.

I don't know what's funnier? That I nearly had a heart attack carrying the 100-pound box up three flights of stairs?

Or that I took three cigarette breaks while I was assembling it?

I'll tell you something, though; you haven't REALLY watched Charlie Rose until you've done so while peddling 20 miles per hour with the really cheap seat of an exercise bike trying it's damnedest to "discover" your colon.

I will never look at the plight of the Palestinians quite the same way again.

BDS

P.S. Why an exercise bike? It was that or give-up beer. And since it's a time-tested combination of beer, Zoloft and reruns of M*A*S*H that prevent me from going on a three-state killing spree, I thought it was the way to go.

INTERNETTINGS

(From December 30, 2007)

So my source for free wireless internet seems to have dried-up.

Maybe it was the witch.

Dig: A witch just moved out of my building.

How do I know? Because when people move out they leave free stuff for the remaining tenants on the first floor radiator. The other day there was a big pile of curious items that included lots of books on witchcraft and a neat little box emblazoned with a pentagram. Also, there was the entire collection of Peter Ellis' "Cadfael Mysteries" which I snatched up because I guess that if I ever bring a woman back to my apartment I want to make damn sure I don't accidentally get laid.

I mean, really. Why the hell else would I have grabbed them? I don't read mysteries. And let's face it ladies, if you went back to some guys place and among his other hundreds of books there was a two foot stack of paperback mysteries featuring a 12th Century Welsh Benedictine monk who solves murders in his spare time would you sleep with him?

Exactly.

(I gotta get rid of those books. )

So what was my point?

Oh yeah, the internet. Don't use it to get a hold of me. Use the phone like a normal person.

(Now I'm going downtown to Macy's to buy a pair of monogramed silk pajamas because goddamnit I'm worth it.)

BDS

A CHRISTMAS EVE STORY

(From December 24, 2007)


So I guess I am the biggest jerk ever. I am also a "shithead," "cocksucker," "asshole," "jack-off," and a "motherfucker." (P.S.-- Don't tell my Dad about that last one.)

Here's the story: I just washed my truck, and decided to go to the Super America to get gas, put some air in my tires and use the ATM.

The one across Lyndale from the car wash was a zoo (they are ALL zoos today, I would later find out.)

So I went to the one on 25th and Hennepin. This one was also a clusterfuck. I wait patiently for a pump while witnessing all manner of idiocy by all manner of people. Finally, the last straw. Two woman in a tan Camry back into the pump in front of me. The driver shuts-off the engine and gets out, only to discover that her gas tank is on the other side of the car. Whoopsi!

I had had enough of stupid people for the day. When she pulls forward, I pull-in to take her place.

Was this a dick move? Yes it was, but it was a dick move with a purpose.

For this young woman to redirect her car back into the same space she would have had to make a "K"-turn of outrageous proportions. I calculated that at least 8 changes of gear would have been necessary. At one point she would have her rear-end out into oncoming traffic on Hennepin Ave, causing traffic there to have to briefly come to a halt in the middle of the block. With the roads being as they were, not exactly the safest proposition.

I know how these things go. I knew that even though she couldn't be bothered to know which side of the car her gas tank was on, IT WAS HER SPOT. And no matter how many people she inconvenienced or endangered in her attempts to turn her car around to get it back where she wanted it (and it was A LOT of people-- basically everyone in the goddamn place) doing what I did would make me the asshole.

I shut-off my engine and got out of my truck. I knew I was in for it. For a college girl she had quite a mouth on her. I will not list again the names I was called. I knew also that there was no point in explaining why I did what I did. I simply allowed her to express her indignation as I went about my business. Meanwhile-- as I was glared at and accused of all manner of sexual deviance and unsavory behavior-- the spot she should have chosen quickly became open and she could have been fuelling her car. But that would have made too much sense. (By the way, I knew that this other spot would soon be available, it had factored into my decision, but hey, when you're not a self-involved shit, you notice these things.)

I took care of my business and left. Before I did the young woman in question gave me her Christmas present, she hawked-up hard and spit on my hood. She was still without gas. And she still didn't realize the Christmas present I HAD GIVEN HER.

When she arrives at her family's home to enjoy a delicious dinner, she will no doubt recount her harrowing tale. All around will agree what a dick I was, as they will no doubt affirm that NONE AMONG THEM would ever do such a thing. Especially not on Christmas Eve Day!

Thus they will get to bask in the glow of their moral superiority. Then they will open all the expensive gifts they bought for each other and all will be well.

And in two days they can go back to being the selfish, right thinking Christian jerks they are the rest of the year. And I still get to be the asshole of the story.

You know what? Fuck Christmas. I've really had it with this nonsense.

THE WOMAN WHO LIVES DOWNSTAIRS FROM ME

(From December 1, 2007)

The woman who lives downstairs from me sucks. And I'll tell you why.

Mostly, it's because she seems to have some kind of hyper-dramatic relationship with her boyfriend.

She's NEVER THERE. I mean almost never. My guess is that she is in a de-facto living situation with this shithead, and the only times she's actually in her apartment are when they are having a spat. On these occasions a very obvious pattern emerges. She comes home, slams her door, and can be heard screaming obscenities into her cellular telephone. The word "fuck" is used in ways it was never intended, and it makes me think that her parents probably wasted an outrageous amount of money on her alleged education.

The phone conversation stops and she starts playing "music."

I use quotation marks because, while I can't really tell what she's listening to, it's obvious the bands she favors are operating under the mistaken impression that the bass guitar is an appropriate melody instrument. Which it is not.

Listening to shitty music for an hour must be her catharsis, because that ends and another loud phone conversation begins. Five minutes of this, and the door slams and she's gone.

All is quiet now. She must have gone back to his place. Call me a lousy person, but I hope a murder/suicide pact is in their near future.

Dig: I have electric guitars, amplifiers, a CASIO CZ-1000 synthesizer, harmonicas, a Schylling hand organ and a potentially VERY LOUD stereo with hundreds of records. And I'll bet she's never heard much out of me.

That's because I understand apartment living.

Once again, the woman who lives downstairs from me sucks.

27 THINGS I WANT FOR MY 34TH BIRTHDAY

(From November 20, 2007)

If you should be unable to obtain one or more of the following items I will accept your presence at GRUMPY'S downtown on Wednesday, November 21 after 10:00 PM as acceptable! BDS


Coupon for a free massage, bubble tea and hand finish from one of those shady massage parlors listed in the back of the City Pages

15th Century Venetian merchants costume (don't ask)

Atomic toothpaste

Rare photo of Geli Raubal pissing in Adolph Hitler's mouth (If unavailable, I will accept a photo of Hitler fellating Ernst Rohm)

Original draft of the Magna Carta stained with King John's tears

Israeli-made Merkava MK-4 Main Battle Tank

John the Baptist's shaving kit from the reliquary in the basement of The Church of Our Lady of Perpetual Motion, Turin Italy

A 19-year-old Dutch girl to sit in my kitchen naked and roll cigarettes for me

Tommy John Ligament replacement surgery for my right elbow

A jewel-encrusted Dunhill cigarette case fit for a Saudi prince (and by "fit for" I mean so garishly expensive only a Saudi prince would own one) Try Harrods in London or maybe J.N. Barber, LTD.

Mint-Condition 1939 PLAY BALL Ted Williams card 92

A date with Kerry Howley

1921 First Edition of H.L. Mencken's book, "The American Language: An Inquiry Into the Development of English in the United States"

A NEW NAME FOR THE NEW BAND! PLEASE!

Dane Cook. Dead.

82-foot West Bay SonShip custom duel-station-raised-pilot-house motor yacht

A baby hippo (What? They're cute)

$15,000 ELP Laser Turntable

1944 North American P-51 Mustang with Rolls Royce Merlin engine and (6) operational .50 caliber machine guns

Flying lessons

One bottle of 50-year-old GLENFIDDICH Scotch in a hand made oak box with a brass plaque declaring how awesome I am

A Brazilian model with an "innie" belly button for me to drink outrageously expensive scotch out of

Solid gold shower and bath fixtures fit for an Enron executive

GUIDED BY VOICES to reform for one performance-- at my birthday party, of course!

FREEDOM FROM UNDERWEAR!

TWINS season tickets. Good ones.

A little "leg" would be nice

ASK MR. SHUEY NO.9: "SCARF WEATHER? ALREADY?"

(From November 5, 2007)

Mr. Shuey,

How do you get your scarf back from some guy you don't really want to have to see again but really want the scarf (and no, we don't have any friends in common, I'm still new in this town.)

If you need more back story let me know, but I really do want this scarf back.

"Lady Chestington"

United Kingdom

How do I get my scarf back from some guy I don't really want to see again? I start by not sleeping with guys. That way I will never stumble out of their apartment, bleary-eyed at nine in the morning having left articles of clothing behind. (I don't want to imply you slept with this guy, but I'm getting that vibe.)

This is a situation that I'm sure many young adults have dealt with at one time or another. Here are a few tricks I've learned to avoid leaving things behind:

1) Use your shoes: Small items will fit nicely in them. Keys, wallets, jewelry and cell phones. Stuff your socks in after to keep things in place.

2) Carve out a spot for yourself: This can be hard in some people's apartments, but there is usually at least a few square feet of floor space not covered in junk. If this isn't the case, pile some of their shit on top of their other shit to make room for your stuff. This is not rude. Rude is having a guest over without first considering that that person will have to disrobe in order to have sex with you. And that this guest, having woken-up next to a total slob will want to gather her belongs and get the fuck out without tearing the place apart, making noise and inevitably waking up the slovenly host who will no doubt burp, yawn, scratch his nuts and say, "Fancy breakfast, love?"

3) Drink less.

And how do you get your scarf back?

You don't. At least not without seeing this schmoe again. You shouldn't try sneaking-in and retrieving it. Like most places, Breaking and Entering is a crime in England (See: s9 under the English THEFT ACT of 1968.) And since they've got all those nifty CCTV cameras around it's unlikely you'll get away with it.

So either take the loss of the scarf as a lesson learned, or suck it up and call the guy.

Good Luck,

Mr. Shuey

CHRISTIAN SINGLES TOO FREAKY FOR ME!

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