At the receptionist desk where I work we have a little glass bowl full of those individually wrapped candy peppermints. Everyone else was getting one so I helped myself. I carefully palmed TWO of the mints, easing one back into my watchband which I keep somewhat loose. It was a perfect fit. I took the other peppermint out of the wrapper, licked it with my tongue on both sides, gently placed it back in the wrapper before any of the candy stripes could 'run', and then carefully twisted it back up in the clear plastic wrapper so that it looked as if it had never been opened.

"What are you going to do with that now?" asked one of the women, curious.

"Oh, I'm going to put it back there in the bowl like I did yesterday." I replied. "I try to lick just a little bit each day, that way the mint candy lasts longer. I once got one of these mints to last a whole month..."

I reverse palmed the unopened mint back into the bowl, sliding the mint I had just licked under my watchband. For all intents and purposes, it looked like I had just put the licked mint back into the bowl. The horrified looks were priceless as everyone just kind of stopped chewing their peppermints and stared at me.

"Strange..." I said, poking around the bowl and picking up other pieces of candy.

"I think someone got the one I had yesterday. Oh, well. That happens I guess. Hard to tell who's is who, they all look alike. I'll just start over with this one."

I made a motion of putting the mint in the very middle of the bowel and then I walked off at that point of the conversation.  Since then, there have been a hell of a lot more peppermints up there left for me. You have to learn how to get stuff in life. Some people call it "acquisition" ...

I call it "marking my territory".


I walked into the bathroom and saw a coworker washing his hands.   Now, whoever designed the stand up urinal stalls in our main bathroom needs to be excommunicated and then shot.  These things are barely wide enough for an adult to squeeze his shoulders in sideways!  Well, I walk in, past my coworker, and up to the stall.  Thinking it was time for some bathroom humor, and since my coworker was making such an exaggerated action of washing his hands, I unzipped my pants at the urinal and made several exaggerated movements of jumping up and down, swaying from side to side, etc.

"Oh no!" I said loudly, looking down.

"What?  You lost something?" my coworker asked, laughing, getting in on the humor.

"No." I replied.  "For a second there I thought I had grown a third leg..."


I showed up at the office on Thursday and all the women had on the same T-shirt.  It was a MDA benefit shirt, I hadn't heard anything about it.   The women kept going around and telling each other that they looked good in their shirts, or that they liked the other woman's choice of outfits.  Ha.  Ha.   Office humor can be drier than a beached whale's prick sometimes.  Well, I wasn't quite sure that I liked seeing all the women walking around in the same T-shirt, until I saw another guy come by with the same T-shirt on.  Then I definitely knew that I liked watching the women walk by in the shirt and not the guy walk by in the shirt.   One of the women stopped by and talked to me.

"Do you like my shirt?  It is just so comfortable to wear..."  she asked, turning around slowly so I could see the MDA logo and this years sappy slogan.

I nodded, pretending to really give a damn about the shirt.  I'm pretty good at pretending to give a damn.  Lots of experience.

"This is for the Muscular Dystrophy Association's benefit today." she said.

"Oh." I replied.  "Oh!  Thank God!  MDA!  Whew.   For a second there I thought we had hired a group of the Stepford Wives."

The humor was lost on her.


I bought a Yoo-Hoo the other day at the store.  Bloody wretched bile from the devil's own stomach churned GI tract and bottom, this stuff is.   The store didn't have any Hershey's milk chocolate drink, so I picked up Yoo-Hoo instead.  Not even Tom Cruise could make me drink this stuff again.  Gak!   Well, I didn't have time to open the bottle and when I got back to the office, I didn't want to drink the stuff either.  Out of the mood.  So I put the bottle in the refrigerator in the break room, way back where no one would find it.  Two days later, I got back in the mood for a Yoo-Hoo and went to the break room.  I opened the refrigerator and looked among all the dead food, expecting to find my Yoo-Hoo missing.   No go, it was still there, so it was my duty to drink the vile stuff.  I saw all the 'chocolate' congealing on the bottom, swallowed forcefully, and began the ritual of Yoo-Hoo activation which requires you to perform more wrist see-sawing and hand shaking than the average 30 second masturbatory fantasy usually includes.  I'm walking down the hall, wishing that I had learned the fine art of whistling (I can't, because I wasn't born on Earth, you see, my vocal cords evolved differently, but that is another story for another time...) and shaking my Yoo-Hoo.  Ever notice that no matter HOW hard you shake the Yoo-Hoo, that it just doesn't ever completely remove all of that dark stuff off the bottom of the glass bottle?  I see that they changed the packaging as well, probably to hide more of that ominous tar-like substance that clings to the sides of the glass and oozes away back into the mire if you shine bright lights at it.

Well, I'm walking and shaking and my wrist is getting more tired than a 13 year old who just discovered the alt.binary news group feature of his parent's ISP.  I walk by the receptionist who notices what I have.

"Oh!  You got a Yoo-Hoo!" she says.

That evil gear kicks in and I go into Evil Mental Overdrive(tm).

"Oh, its not mine." I say with a straight face.   "I found it."

She looks a little confused.

"You found it?  Where?" she asks.

"In the back of the fridge.  Oh, I knew it was there, it's been there for about a year now, I suppose.  No one else has touched it, but I've watched it to see if it belonged to anyone else before I took it."

The look on her face is priceless, it is why I live to do these things.

"That's been sitting in the fridge for a year and you're going to drink it?" she asks cautiously.

"Sure!" I say.  "No one else has claimed it and it hasn't been opened."

I turned the bottle over and pretended to read a date stamped in the bottom.

"Best if used before two slash nine nine." I muttered.

"February of 1999?" the receptionist said loudly.   "That drink is over two years out of date."

I looked at her like she had lost her mind and started to undo the cap.

"Well, it has been in the fridge all that time.  Should still be good."

I took a long swig of the drink as the receptionist's eyes got as big a softballs.  Then I jerked forward a little bit and pantomimed choking and forcing something horrible down my throat with a exaggerated swallowing.  I let loose with a long gasp, and looked at the bottle, wiping my eyes for some pretend tears and turning to look at the receptionist who was sitting there with her knees together and her hands up to her mouth like she was watching some life or death rescue that had gone horribly wrong.  I coughed loudly and wiped my lips with the top of my forearm.

"Not exactly what I remember a Yoo-Hoo tasting like..." I said slowly.

She started making this little mewing noise like someone who is about to step out of reality at something that they were not prepared to witness has just happened in front of their eyes.  I actually thought she was going to ralph into the garbage can.

"And the texture is a bit ... chunky." I added, searching for the proper adjective and then sniffing the open bottle neck, wrinkling my nose in obvious disgust at what I found there.

I looked right at her and smiled.

"But since no one else wants it, I guess I'll just go ahead and finish it off.  Want some?  It's not bad once you get over the smell and the flavor takes some getting used to, but that is to be expected.  I guess it is what people call an 'acquired taste', if you know what I mean..."

I then took another long swig, said "Ahhhh!" real loud, smacked my lips, and walked on down the hall.  The receptionist knew then that I was kidding and threw a pen at me.  That woman thinks I'm evil but I had her going hook line and sinker that time.  I thought SHE was going to throw up there for awhile.

yohoo-choc.gif (8437 bytes)

99% fat free, 99% cholesterol free, and, sadly, apparently 99% TASTE-FREE as well

I asked Larry, my favorite (in)convenience store clerk if the were ever going to get any "B" size batteries in.  He didn't have an answer to that one..., and by God, he actually walked around the counter and came and stood by the battery display to look for me.  Now, folks, that is SERVICE and that is why I patronize Larry's (in)convenience store with my hard earned money.

Why don't they make B sized batteries?   Or maybe they do, and only special government agencies get to use them.  Maybe they fit in those nifty little ear set radios that you see the guys in black sunglasses talking to all the time.  Me?  I think they're just listening to some ballgame somewhere.


My wife and I were sitting in the car at Sonic one night when our order was delivered.  The car hop gave my change back and I looked at the coins, one was a new state quarter and I got this evil thought.  I knew my wife collected the state quarters, so I asked her.

"Are you waiting for Hawaii?" I asked, looking at the coins in my hand.

"Yes!" she replied, thinking that I had a state quarter that she did not have in her collection.

I handed her the quarter which she took eagerly.

"Yeah, well, so are a lot of other people." I said flatly.

I think I still have the bruise on my arm where she hit me...


I always stop off at the same convenience store and fill up my 52oz mug with Pepsi, every morning.  I'm a regular, all the cashiers know me, and I usually have exact change, $1.06, which consists of a dollar bill with a nickel and a penny rolled up inside.  I drop the bill and change on the counter top and leave.  It is a routine.  Well, the other morning I decided to have some fun. I filled up my mug and dropped the money on the counter.  The cashier took it, rang up the drawer, separated my money and closed the drawer again, throwing away the ticket.  I stood there.   This was unusual, I usually walked right on out with a friendly 'have a nice day' remark, but today I made it obvious that I wanted something else.  After a few seconds to see if I would continue my daily routine, she decided that today was going to be different and she saw that maybe she had jumped the gun by taking my money and not 'following through' with the sale.

It made her uncomfortable to have 'second guessed' a customer, I could tell.   Icing on the cake.

"Need something else this morning?" the cashier, a cute brunette asked politely, taken back the departure from my daily routine.

I glanced at the cigarettes behind the counter and nodded.

"Get me a pack of Winston ultra long super cool menthol low tar extra filtereds in the crush proof box.  Gold stamp, please."

The cashier swallowed that as best as she could, I watched her expression and the mental gears moving.  Poor girl. She turned, looked at the Winstons, started trying to find the fictional cigarettes, squatted down behind the counter, and started looking in and behind other brands.

"Winston super...?" she began to ask.

"Winston ultra long super cool menthol low tar extra filtereds..." I started to say slowly, trying to remember my own made up cigarettes.

I added a little incentive that I wasn't pulling her leg by taking out my wallet and pulling out a five dollar bill and laying it on the counter.  She looked at the five, knew I was serious, and turned to resume her search once more.

"In the gold stamp box?" she asked, moving some cigarettes around, then standing and looking at me.

"Crush proof box with the gold stamp foil seal.  Can't miss it." I replied, smirking where she couldn't see me.

"I don't see ... them." she said, grunting a little as she extended herself up to look on the top shelf.

I had to give the girl credit, she was literally bending over backwards to make her customer happy.

"They were next to the Harley Davidson 'Road Hawg' brand cigarettes two days ago..."

She looked up at the Harley Davidson cigarettes and didn't find any 'Road Hawg' brand either.  I could see the disappointment in her body language.  She finally stood up, brushed off the knees to her jeans and put on her best 'I'm sorry I couldn't find them' smile.

"You said you got a pack two days ago?" she said in an apologetic voice.

"Yeah." I said, putting the five back in my wallet, looking really depressed.

"Well, my manager will be in later today.  I'll see if she can order some more..."

"Thanks!" I said.  "I'll pick some up at your sister store down the road."

The cashier had this really cute 'I'm sorry' look on her face and I turned, walked to the door and opened it.

"Hey!" she asked, pouting her lips.  "Do they really make those cigarettes?"

I slowly turned, took a long sip out of the foot long straw, and looked right at her.

"No." I said.  "See you tomorrow."

I closed the door and heard a thump against it.  The cashier had long armed a neoprene can hugger at the door.  She ran around the counter and picked it up off the floor.  I waved, she smiled and waved.  I think we both had a good laugh at it.


Once when I took Cindy to Outback Steakhouse, I purposely slid my Chevron gas credit card in the valet voucher along with the bill.  The waitress took the voucher without even looking and disappeared.  Cindy slapped me playfully on the top of the hand and said I was evil.  I just smiled.  Five minutes later, the waitress came back and asked if I had another credit card, this one was being declined.  I politely told her that there had been a satellite communications problem, that the Nihon Trade Corporation had lost one of their telecommunications satellites which had made atmospheric reentry and there would be problems until they could get a new satellite up in space.   She had this 'Oh, OK, I understand now!' look and went back to run my Chevron card once more.  Cindy busted out giggling, I couldn't help it either.

A few minutes later, the waitress came back and said that she had checked with her manager and they didn't take Chevron, only Visa, MC, and Amex.  I apologized, and handed her my Visa.

I left a good tip, she was a good sport.


When Cindy and I go out to eat and the waitress asks us if we want to be seated in 'smoking' or 'non-smoking' section, I reply 'Both!'. 

Their look is always priceless.


My partner Eric and I pull private security duty, sometimes at the local skating rink where the kids hang out.  The owner's brother, Daniel, has a red Chrysler Concorde.  It is always dusty and dirty.  The kids write messages like "Wash me!" and other stuff on it with their fingers.  Well, his car was covered one night in kid's scrawls in the dust.  I got in on the game and wrote above the driver's door, in the dust on the roof "Dirtier than a $2.00 hooker".

Later that night, I pointed out that his car was really dirty and that he needed to wash it according to everyone who had written messages in his dust.  He said he just didn't have time to wash it.  I pointed out my message and told him that someone had written something nasty.  He asked me what it said and I read my message to him.

"Yeah, I bet Eric wrote that!  I'm going to kill him next time I see him."